


How Asajj Ventress Saved the Galaxy and Got Zero Credit

by FrostOnGalway



Series: How Asajj Ventress Saved the Galaxy [1]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008), Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types, star wars: all media types, star wars: revenge of the sith
Genre: Artoo is Amazing, Eating Disorders, F/M, Families of Choice, Fluff and Angst, Force Visions, Human Disaster Anakin Skywalker, Human Trashcan Sheev Palpatine, Marriage, Minor Original Character(s), Mother-Daughter Relationship, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Slavery, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rating May Change, Suicidal Thoughts, Team Mom Padme, The Jedi Council Makes Terrible Decisions, Women Being Awesome, oof
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2019-09-01 15:57:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 44,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16768276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrostOnGalway/pseuds/FrostOnGalway
Summary: Ahsoka leaves the Jedi. She's gone and no one knows where. Except, one person does, and Ahsoka's not going to get away with wallowing in regret for the choices she's made. She has a chance to make things right and gets back in contact with Anakin, but something isn't right.Meanwhile, Padme is trying to hold the galaxy and also her marriage together. It's hard, when the war is tearing her husband and the universe apart.(Alternatively: Ahsoka and Padme kick butt, Anakin is a massive wreck with a heart of gold, and Asajj, Rex, and Obi-Wan are dragged along for the ride.)





	1. Ahsoka

“If you’re going to mope about all the time, comm him already. Here.” Her roommate shoves the comm into her hands. “I’m going out. When I get back, I expect to find a togruta in a better mood. And lunch, if you’re feeling particularly generous.”

Ahsoka rolls her eyes. “Fine. But you’re making dinner.”

“Should I get you anything besides an attitude adjustment?”

“No. Go away before I adjust your face.”

“Later, darling.”

The door slides shut softly. Ahsoka flips the comm through the air, considering. She keys into the contacts and taps one of the pre-programmed numbers.

“This is Padmé.”

“Senator Amidala? It’s Ahsoka.”

There is a fumbling sound on the other end of the line. “Ahsoka! It’s so good to hear from you! We—I’ve been so worried about you. How have you been?”

Ahsoka sighs into the comm unit. “I’m fine. I’ve got an apartment and a job. Things are fine.” The apartment is in an unsavory area of Coruscant and the job is barely paying for it, but the senator doesn’t need to know that.

“That’s wonderful, Ahsoka. It can be hard when you first get out on your own.” Ahsoka holds in her snort. “I remember when I first got my apartment here. Everything seemed so empty, even with all the staff around. It still does sometimes.”

“Yeah,” she says halfheartedly. There is a pause, but just as Ahsoka starts to feel awkward, Senator Amidala speaks up.

“Did you need something? Or did you just want to chat with an old friend?”

“Um, kind of both? I just wanted to check in and see how you’ve been.” She walks to the window and peers at the dumpsters in the alley below.

“Well the senate’s as slow moving as ever. I’ve been working on another refugee bill, but by the looks of things it won’t be getting passed anytime soon. Other than that, I’m just keeping busy.”

 _Same as always,_ Ahsoka translates. _Did it even affect her when I left?_ “I’m glad you’re doing alright,” she says.

“Ahsoka? You haven’t—have you talked to Anakin at all?”

“Well, I’ve thought about it. I was going to, right after I left. But I needed to make my own beginning, you know? And then things got really busy, and the chrono flies and now it’s been six months and I just—does he even want me to talk to him? I don’t know. So, uh, long story short: no.” _But you probably knew that already_ , she adds mentally.

“Ahsoka. I’m _very_ sure Anakin would be overjoyed to hear from you. He’s not mad at you for leaving. I think if you told him you were alright it would go a long way.” _A long way to what?_ The Force murmurs in foreboding. “Even if things can’t go back to the way they were,” the senator says, “he still cares about you. He won’t be angry.”

“He won’t?”

“No.”

“Um, how is Master—Anakin?”

Padmé’s sigh reverberates down the comm. “I think you made the best choice you could in a bad situation, and I don’t blame you. But he’s been. . .different since you left. I haven’t seen him in almost two months, though. He’s been out on the front.”

A tooka pokes its head out of the dumpster. “Different how?”

“You should talk to him,” Padmé urges. Ahsoka doesn’t miss the deflection. “He’d want to hear from you.”

“Okay. I will.”

“If I get off the line with you will you do it now?”

Ahsoka rolls her eyes. “If I said I’ll do it, I’ll do it, senator.”

“I’ve told you, it’s Padmé. And I know you will. But why not get it done?”

“Yes, fine. I will call Master Skywalker as soon as I hang up with you.”

“Perfect! I’ll be going then. And Ahsoka?”

“Yes?”

“Don’t be a stranger.”

“Bye, Padmé.”

“Goodbye, Ahsoka.”

The commline buzzes and Ahsoka is left to watch the tooka scrounge for scraps. It darts down the alley into the main street.

She dials the number she's input countless times and waits. It rings out. A familiar voicemail message crackles, “You’ve reached Anakin Skywalker. I’m busy blowing something up right now. Feel free to bother my padawan instead! If you are my padawan, go pester Obi-Wan. Alternatively, leave a message at the beep.”

Six months. She has been gone six months and he still hasn’t changed it. It could be a simple oversight—Anakin is a busy guy—but the Force is nudging her again in a way that suggests otherwise.

She dials again just in case he has missed the first one accidentally. The line clicks as it connects.

“This is Kenobi. Anakin is currently unavailable. To whom am I speaking?”

“Master Kenobi?”

“Ahsoka?”

“Yeah, um, hi. Is Skyguy around?” The pain of his silence as the council turned on her had eased, but she wasn’t sure she had forgiven Master Kenobi yet, and she definitely doesn’t want to have some heart-to-heart with him.

“Present, but unconscious. We’re in the medbay right now.”

“Is he okay?”

“More or less,” he says after a beat too long. “It’s been a difficult assignment. But might I inquire what prompted your call? Or would you rather wait until Anakin is available? I’ll let him know you called.”

“No! I mean, yes, please do. But I wanted to ask: is he okay? In general, I mean.” She cringes.

“You haven’t spoken with him since you left.” It isn’t a question, but her silence confirms the truth. She can picture him pinching the bridge of his nose. “He’s been rather closed off as of late.”

“Oh.” A rock settles in her stomach.

“I respect your decision to leave, but Anakin has found your departure difficult to accept. He has been. . .struggling.” The rock becomes an asteroid. If Master Kenobi is admitting to a problem it is . . .not good.

 _No! You can’t feel guilty over this,_ she scolds herself. _You made your choice and it’s not his fault or yours, but you both have to live with it. Anakin’s an adult. You have to do what’s best for you._

When Ahsoka doesn’t say anything, Master Kenobi offers, “We’ll be home on leave in about a week. Perhaps you might see him then?”

“Okay,” she says. “When do you think he’ll be out of medical?”

“Not until tomorrow at least, unless he breaks out early. But we’ll hopefully be in hyperspace by that point, so it might be difficult to get ahold of him. I’ll send you our ETA in a moment.”

“Thanks. Tell him I’ll be waiting for him to come back.”

“I will. Kenobi out.”

“Bye, Master,” she says, but the line is already dead.

An hour later, Ahsoka’s roommate strides past her and deposits two sacks of groceries on the counter. “What’s for lunch?”

“Hello to you too,” Ahsoka grumbles.

The other woman crosses her arms. “I thought we agreed you would be in a better mood when I came back.”

“We didn’t. You agreed.”

“Did you even use the comm?”

“Yes! But I got Master Kenobi instead and nobody will tell me anything helpful and they’re going to be on-planet in like a week and I just, ugh.” She slumps down until her forehead hits the counter. “I said I’d be there to meet him when he got back. So Master Kenobi and all the boys will be there and what am I even supposed to say to any of them? Especially him.”

“Do you regret leaving?”

“I’m not sorry I left. It was the right thing to do. I don’t regret it.” The other woman scoffs. “I _don’t._ I just wish nobody else had gotten hurt by my choices.”

“In my experience, someone will always be hurt no matter what path you choose. Better them than me, I say.”

“That’s a pretty cynical way to look at things.”

She shrugs. “We’ve all got to get by somehow.”

The week drags by after that. Ahsoka dreads its close and longs for it to end in turns. She has work to keep her busy during the day, but she spends her nights restlessly.

Regret swirls around her as it has not since her first weeks after leaving the Temple. She cannot stop thinking of the last look she saw on her master’s face. His twisted expression seeps under her skin and rings in her montrals. She had never even given Rex and the boys a proper goodbye. No thanks for all they had taught her, no teasing remarks about who owed who for more butt-saving, no parting gift in repayment for what she had received.

“I’m a terrible friend,” she says to the darkened apartment.

She wonders if they will be able to forgive her. Maybe not. Rex values duty and loyalty. Skyguy would never forget a betrayal. Not after that stunt Master Kenobi pulled in what she and Rex quietly referred to as “the Hardeen incident.” She would not be forgiving that one for a while either. But Anakin had taken it harder, more personally.

Padmé’s reassurance seems feeble now. Ahsoka clings to it anyway.

“He won’t hate you. They want to see you,” she mutters to herself as she waits on the platform. She is thankful they are landing by the troop barracks instead of in the temple. Master Kenobi had said they were coming down in the troop transports rather than bringing their fighters as Anakin’s was not currently airworthy.

The larties all land in quick succession and her men swarm onto the platform. They see her and shouts spread like ripples. Blue and white and black reach for her and wave at her and gesture in her direction.

“Hey, Commander!”

“Commander Tano!”

“Good to see you, Commander.”

“Guys, the commander’s here!”

She shares smiles and laughs and squeezes hands.

“Alright, make a hole!” Men jump apart as a familiar suit of armor appears. He pulls off his bucket and gives her a knowing look. “Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

“Hey there, Rexer.”

“Commander.” A welcome, a blessing, all she needs to know. She throws herself into his arms. His helmet drops as his arms wrap around her, careful as ever of her hind lek. “You came back,” he rumbles in her montral.

“I shouldn’t have left. Not like that. You deserved better.”

He pulls back to look at her solemnly. “You did what you had to. It’s alright.”

“Thanks, Rex.”

Another transport descends and Ahsoka _knows._ Rex follows her gaze. “I’ll leave you to it.” He squeezes her shoulder.

She returns the gesture. “See you round, Rexer.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He nods and turns to the brothers crowded around. “Alright you lazy lurkers, clear the platform!” They disperse at their captain’s order. Ahsoka glances at Rex as he follows behind the troops.

The transport doors lift and her master stumbles out. She feels a rushing sensation through their bond, like falling. When their eyes lock across the platform, it is like they have hit the ground. The air rushes from her lungs and it _hurts_ but she tastes exhilaration. She takes a step forward and the next instant he rushes for her. She flies towards him and they crash together. His face is in her shoulder, hands weave around backs, her toes scrape the ground, and their bond is singing and shouting and grasping her just as tightly as his arms.

“You’re here,” he says. “You’re here. You’re here.”

“Master.”

He lowers her till her heels are on the ground, but continues to clutch her.

“Snips.”

“Master.” He is shaking.

“Not your master anymore,” he corrects.

“You’ll always be my master,” she says. “You taught me.”

He doesn’t answer. Ahsoka pulls back to look at his face. It is like pulling two magnets apart. He is happy to see her. But underneath that his face is weary. There is a faint bruise disappearing into his hairline near his temple. His dull eyes are framed by stress lines and circles that could be painted on. His mouth is pinched.

“You’ve grown,” he says to the air on her left.

“Wanna get something to eat that isn’t a ration bar?” she suggests. He shrugs. “C’mon. We can go to Dex’s.” He shakes his head.

“Not Dex’s. Somewhere else.”

“Okay.” She grabs his hand and pulls. “Speeder’s this way.”

Ahsoka had thought eating might perk him up, but he doesn’t even get any food. He just stares into his cup of caf while she works her way through her bowl of soup. In lieu of Dex’s, she drove them to a little cafe called Mama Li's. They sit at one of the small round tables outside.

“I got a job,” she says to break the awful silence.

He nods, but doesn't look up from the bright purple umbrella over their heads. “That’s good. Wouldn’t want you to be bumming round the lower levels of Coruscant.”

“You’re hilarious.”

“So what is it?”

“You’re going to think it’s dumb.”

“Well now I’m curious.”

“You weren’t when you asked before?” she teases.

“Nope.” He grins, but it slips away quickly.

“I’m working at a caf shop a couple blocks away.”

His brows come together. “Why would I think that’s dumb?”

“Well it’s a pretty big change from my previous livelihood.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about Snips. Food service is a noble profession. You used to save the galaxy by serving justice and beating people up. Now you save the galaxy by justly serving beat-up people.”

“Well when you put it that way, it’s really pretty similar. Not much of a career change at all.”

“As I said, a noble profession.” Ahsoka stirs her soup. Anakin changes the subject, “Did you have much trouble finding a place to live?”

“No. I got an apartment and someone to share it with pretty easily.”

“What’s your roommate like?”

“A bit like Master Obi-Wan, actually.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he says.

She grins. “Imagine him, but as a grouchy bald lady.”

“Ew.”

Ahsoka takes a moment to picture it herself. “Yeah, that,” she shudders, “didn’t come out sounding how I meant it.” Anakin has gone back to staring into his caf. “You look tired. Do you want to go home? I can come over tomorrow, if you want. I haven’t seen Padmé in a while.”

He sighs. “Yeah. I should go. Here,” he fishes in his belt pouch and throws some credits on the table. “My half of the bill.”

She spreads out the change to count it. “Master, this is too much for both of us,” Ahsoka says. She glances up when he does not reply, but he is nowhere in sight. She looks down again at the table. A half-finished bowl of soup, an abandoned caf, and more credits than the two are worth lie scattered across its surface.

As she navigates Coruscant’s afternoon traffic, Ahsoka reviews the day. Her talk with Rex had been relieving. Things are still as easy between them as ever. Master Anakin is a different story. He seemed off somehow. He is exhausted, obviously, as anybody coming off the front lines would feel. That is not the problem. It is not even the way he had barely met her eyes the entire time they had been together, or the way his smiles seemed shaky. All of that can be explained. He is tired, he is unsure how to feel about her sudden reappearance, he is readjusting after time on the battlefield. Those things are natural. They make sense. Something else does not, but its nature eludes Ahsoka.

The bad feeling persists into the evening. She has the apartment to herself while her roommate is off doing Force knows what. She turns on a holofilm and sets up camp on the couch with a blanket and a bag of jerky. She is not going to get any further on the mystery that is her master tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I plan to post on a weekly schedule, though comments might motivate me to post a bonus chapter. They'll all probably be about this length. I have some chapters reserved, but I'm a college student with a life in the real world so updates may become sporadic later on.


	2. Padmé

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for such a positive response to the first chapter. I loved seeing your comments, bookmarks, and kudos.  
> I'm posting a few days early because I'm really excited to share. I don't 100% love this chapter, but I figured you guys would rather have it available than have it up to my perfectionist standards. I can always go back and edit later, as I keep telling myself. I did make some sizable edits to it before I posted. (I have several chapters on hold and ready to be posted after some quick edits, but this one saw some significant changes in dialogue and narration.) Anyway, I hope you don't hate it as much as I do.  
> Soft warning for some mild, non-graphic discussion of sex. This story will never include graphic sex, but Padme and Anakin are married, so it's hard for the topic to never come up.  
> If you so desire, I'd love to hear what you thought or if you found anything I should correct.

Artoo arrives as Padmé is unloading an armful of datapads onto the table. She and Bail had met for brunch and business, but she has brought the rest of her work home for the day in anticipation of Anakin’s arrival. The little droid greets her with a cheerful series of beeps, makes a dismissive blatt at Threepio’s fussing, and rolls up to his charging station in the kitchen with a relieved whistle.

“Artoo,” she stops him before he can power down, “any idea what time Anakin will be home?”

His response is longer than she expects and she looks to Threepio to translate. “Oh my. He says that Master Ani has gone to meet with Miss Ahsoka and Artoo has no idea when he’ll be back.” He muses, “Meeting Miss Ahsoka, how unexpected. But then, even I can’t predict what Master Anakin will do and _I’m_ his creation.”

“He’s talking to Ahsoka? That’s good I suppose.” As much as Padmé longs to see him, she knows it will be good for the two of them to see each other, as she had told Ahsoka last week. Padmé herself has yet to see Ahsoka, but they spoke over the comm once more a few days ago.

Artoo beeps irritably and rocks from side to side. “Sorry, Artoo. Yes, that was all,” she says.

Padmé considers. Anakin is often ravenous after getting back from a tour, but he is probably eating lunch with Ahsoka right now. “Threepio,” she says, “why don’t you make some sandwiches or something that will keep for a while so Anakin will can have something whenever he gets back.”

“Of course, Mistress. I shall do that right away.”

He putters around the kitchen while Padmé sorts through her stack of datapads, looking for the one containing her notes on the refugee relocation funds appropriations bill. She consults the notes she made while talking with Bail and begins to adjust her proposition.

Anakin arrives sooner than she expects. Padmé jumps when he says her name. “Anakin!” They embrace. “Artoo said you were with Ahsoka. I thought you would be longer in getting here.” She pulls back slightly. “You look tired.”

He nods against the hand she brings up to cup his cheek. Her thumb traces the circles under his eyes. She stands on her toes to kiss him. Anakin’s hands on her waist feel warm and strong. “I missed you,” she says as her lips brush the corner of his mouth.

“I missed you too.” He leans down until his forehead rests against hers.

“Are you hungry at all? I had Threepio make sandwiches, and there’s fruit. I have leftovers from the state dinner yesterday as well.”

“No. I’m going to go take a shower if that’s okay.”

“Of course,” Padmé says. “I’m going to try to make a dent in this work while you’re gone.” She kisses him once more before letting him head deeper into the apartment to clean up.

Padmé does her best to focus on work while she waits on Anakin. With her husband just in the other room, though, she catches her attention wandering. There is a strange peace in knowing she’s not the only warm body in the apartment. _Is this how Sola feels when Darred gets home? Does she listen to the sound of her daughters playing in the next room?_ She feels a rush of envy for her sister, whose loved ones are always close by. As she underlines another passage of text for revision, it occurs to her that it has been some time since she heard the water shut off.

She finds Anakin sitting on the edge of their bed, elbows resting on his knees and staring downward blankly. His hair is still wet and tangled, but he has changed into pair of loose, comfortable clothes, layers one over another in Jedi fashion. His fresh shirt has wet patches on the shoulders. His cheeks look hollow from this angle, his eyes sunken.

He looks up at her when she slips her hand between his. “Hey,” she prods gently.

“Hi.” He looks around listlessly. “Sorry, I—”

“Shh. It’s okay. I understand.” She squeezes his hands before moving away. Padmé pulls a hairbrush from the drawer of her vanity and settles on the bed behind him. She leans forward on her knees. “Tilt your head up a bit.” He obliges. She brushes methodically, the way her mother would before cutting her father’s hair.

“There,” she says, “done. Wait here a minute.”

She collects her datapads from the couch, bustles back into the bedroom, and sets her stack of pads on the bed. She rearranges the pillows on her side so they will support her back as she sits. She makes herself comfortable and then reaches over to tug on Anakin. “Come on, lie down. You need rest.”

“What about you?” he protests weakly.

“I can work just easily in here as at the table.”

“That’s not what I meant. I meant I want to spend time with you. We haven’t been together in so long.”

“We’ll be together, just not talking. But that can wait,” she reassures him. “Right now you’re exhausted.”

He gives in and curls up on his side facing her. She pulls the blanket from the end on the bed and covers him in it. He unfolds it further and spreads it over her legs. She pulls the datapads onto her lap and picks up where she left off.

Eventually, Anakin stops playing with her left hand and nods off. She continues to work one-handed though, cautious not to disturb him.

She realizes she has not asked him how his time with Ahsoka had gone. Judging by his level of weariness, the Togruta had probably sent him home to get some rest. If anyone knows how thin Anakin is likely to stretch himself while on the front, it is Ahsoka. She has witnessed it firsthand often enough.

Padmé wants to be surprised when he sleeps straight through dinner. She keeps putting it off, wondering if he will wake up and be hungry. Finally, when it is as dark outside as Coruscant ever gets, Padmé decides she ought to go ahead without him. She eats leftovers alone at the table, feeling grateful that she told Threepio he could power down earlier in the afternoon. The silence of her apartment is so different from the chaos of Coruscant.

The Senate building is constantly full of activity, sometimes raging with impassioned speeches, other times buzzing with the business of thousands of beings. The traffic and city life outside her windows never slows or quiets. And not so far away, the Jedi Temple and GAR headquarters hum steadily with the goings-on of war.

She leaves her dishes in the sink to be dealt with later and goes back into the bedroom. Anakin has not moved at all.

It takes longer to remove her hair from its ornate style than it would if she had a handmaid to help her, but Padmé has told them all to get lost for the day. She carefully removes the braids woven around her hairpiece on her own. Next, she trades her elaborate dress for a simple white nightgown.

Sometimes, when Anakin is away, she sleeps in one of his spare shirts. They are soft and smell like he does, and they comfort her on nights when the size of the bed keeps her awake. When he comes back, she forces him to wear the ones she likes best, so that his scent will be reinforced. He could tease her or complain, but he never does because he misses her just as much.

Anakin stirs slightly when she gets into the bed, so Padmé coaxes him into enough awareness to crawl under the covers instead of sleeping on top of them. This time, he faces away from her and she curls around his back.

She feels the warmth of his back and the hard edge of his shoulderblade against her cheek. The slightly cooler surface of his metal hand is beneath hers. She sighs in relief. After two months of nights spent staring into the dark, it is finally easy to fall asleep.

The next morning, Padmé awakes to an empty bed. She pulls on her robe and runs her fingers through her hair to tame it before heading into the apartment’s common area. Anakin is sitting on the couch with his knees against his chest. He jumps slightly when she touches his shoulder from behind, but relaxes into her hand as she runs it through his hair. Padmé leans over the back of the couch and lets her hands explore him as they have not in so long. He looks up at her. She smiles at his sleep-softened expression. “Good morning.”

He yawns widely. “Morning.”

“Have you had any breakfast yet? You slept through dinner, but I thought you looked like you needed sleep more than food.”

“No, I was waiting for you.”

“How do omelets sound? I can have Threepio fry some up.”

“That’s fine,” he says. “I’ll go switch him on.”

She takes a seat next to spot he vacated and watches the sky grow brighter. From the kitchen she hears Threepio’s excited fussing and Anakin’s sleepy replies. He slumps back into his spot beside her. She makes herself comfortable on his shoulder and watches his face as he strokes her cheek. He says, “You’re amazing.”

Padmé smiles. “Why do you say that?”

“Because it’s true. You’re brave and strong and beautiful and you always know what to do. And when you find a problem, you try your hardest to fix it.”

“You’re not so bad yourself,” she teases. And then she kisses him and it has been so long since she felt such warmth at her core. She wants more. His hands dart to her wrists and catch them as she reaches under his shirt. He pulls his head away. “What?” she asks.

The look on his face is difficult to decipher. “I—” he swallows. “Sorry, I . . .” he trails off and looks down at their hands. “Sorry,” he repeats. He mutters something about Threepio and breakfast and practically runs for the kitchen.

Padmé blinks. Her brain is buzzing. All she can think is, _what?_ That was not the reaction she’d been expecting, to say the least. He’d looked exhausted yesterday, too tired to initiate anything or respond if she had tried. But she’d thought he would be more than willing come morning. Instead he ran out at the first sign that she’d like more than a kiss. _Come to think of it, he’s been tense this whole time._

 _Something is wrong,_ her instincts warn her. She takes a deep breath and goes into the kitchen. Anakin is sitting on the counter, tinkering with a mechanical part he got from somewhere. Threepio flips omelets in silence.

Padmé studies him. “Ani, what’s wrong? Whatever it is, it’s okay. We can work it out.”

“His speech was sounding staticky. I thought it was a problem with the vocal processor, but there’s nothing wrong with it.” He says it almost flatly, but for a hint of frustration.

Padmé feels frustrated too. She tries not to show it while she says, “Please don’t ignore this.” She moves closer, but not into his space. “Anakin,” she tries again, “what’s wrong?”

“It’s just been a long week,” he says eventually, still without looking at her. “I’m sorry about earlier, I just wasn’t expecting it. Sorry.”

“Please stop apologizing. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, I just want to know why you don’t want to.”

“I don’t feel like it,” he says. Finally, Anakin looks up at her and adds, “It’s nothing to do with you. I love you. I just can’t . . . I don’t feel like it.”

“Anakin,” she starts, but she doesn’t know how to finish. She looks into his pleading eyes and says, “I’m not—I’m not about to stop loving just because you don’t feel like having sex sometimes.”

Threepio turns from the stove to look at her. His wide yellow eyes and open mouth are the perfect face for expressing how scandalized he is, even if Anakin is holding his voicebox. Anakin just looks grateful, no, _relieved_. Padmé is reminded that they have never had to have a conversation like this before. _If that doesn’t say anything about the pitiful amount of time we spend together, I don’t know what does._ Typically, their intimacy is only dependent on the available amount of privacy.

His brow furrows. “Oh,” he says. It is not the response she is hoping for, but Padmé tries not to let this show on her face. He slides off the counter and reinserts Threepio’s missing parts.

Something is definitely wrong. Something bigger than tiredness is weighing on her husband. Padmé noticed he was off the last time he was home, but they had spent so little time together that she had not been able to pinpoint what. Her own worries have kept her busy while he was deployed. Their contact has been limited the past few months by necessity and circumstance. But he is here with her, and Anakin is not better. If anything, he seems worse. With all the evidence before her, Padmé is forced to admit that Anakin has little physical desire for her. He seems alright with gentle kissing, but unwilling to go farther. It is unlike him to be so distant, physically and emotionally, and she’s noticed both since he returned yesterday.

Padmé quickly discards the idea that his love for her is waning. Anakin is loyal and devoted and throws himself wholeheartedly into keeping his promises. He loves her. His words earlier reinforce this. Perhaps intimacy feels like too much for him after the horror of the front lines. In the past, Anakin’s experiences have had the opposite effect. Even when he has felt unable to talk something out, he has wanted to be with her. Padmé thinks this is not the answer. She has not spent enough time with Anakin recently to know what the true difficulty is. She hopes to change that.

It’s difficult to get quality time together. Even in the best of times, they both have demanding vocations. Now, the war pulls them further apart every day. They are both consumed, in their own ways, trying to alleviate the galaxy’s suffering. The moments when they are together are precious and few. With so little time together, it is impossible to share in the everyday details of each others’ lives.

She can’t discuss her day-to-day thoughts with Anakin. That leaves her with no real place to turn. She has friends, but the close ones are politicians or Jedi. She has no one to be honest with. When she was queen, her handmaids were her confidants. She was closest with Sabé, but each of them was like a sister to her. As a child, she confided in Sola and her mother. Now, so much separates her from each of these women—experiences they will never know, secrets Padmé cannot share.

She eats with Anakin. Well, they both sit at the table and pick at their food. Threepio clanks about the kitchen cleaning up. “What does your week look like?” Padmé asks.

Anakin frowns in thought. “I’m not that busy actually. I promised the Chancellor I’d go see him tomorrow, and the Council will want to brief me sometime in the next few days. They’re a bit backed up at the moment, so I’m not sure exactly when they’ll call me in. Obi-Wan will probably be stuck in there for most of our leave.” He picks at his omelet. “Ahsoka said she’d come by today.”

“Oh? Do you need to go back to the Temple to meet her?”

“No, she seemed to expect I’d be here.”

Padmé turns that over. “What exactly did she say?”

“That I should go home and she’d see me tomorrow, and that she wanted to talk to you.” He notices Padmé’s expression. “Oh. Um, I think she’s suspected for a while?” He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “I’m kind of bad at keeping secrets from her.”

Padmé raises an eyebrow at him. “Well, she’s not a Jedi anymore. And if she hasn’t said anything to anybody yet, I don’t think we should worry about it.” She pretends to say thoughtfully, “it will be nice to have someone to complain about you with.”

“Haven’t you two always done that?” he asks.

“Yes,” she laughs. Normally, this would be the part where he lunges across the table and tickles her into submission. Today, he shakes his head with a snort and goes back to picking at his eggs.

Padmé hopes some time with Ahsoka will be good for all three of them.


	3. Anakin

_Six Months Earlier_

It’s been weeks since Ahsoka left, and his ears are still buzzing. When he thought Obi-Wan was dead during the Hardeen incident, he was so angry he shook with it. It’s different this time. He feels too heavy to move. He’s still angry, but with himself. _It’s my fault_ , he thinks with every blink. _If I had found the truth faster, followed the rules so the Council would trust me, trained her better, she’d still be here._

He can hardly stand to eat. Every bite he takes is accompanied by the thought, _you don’t deserve this_. He avoids food if he can. He loses himself in work, fighting, training, and fixing, every moment that he can. He keeps moving until he falls into bed, and then he thinks about never getting up again. The thought of all the people depending on him drags him back up in the morning, but he has already let them all down. He lost the one who was something between a daughter and a sister.

It’s hard not to think about her. When he succeeds, for some stupid reason, he starts thinking about his mom. They never—

He tries not to think about her.

Anakin has failed as a teacher and a brother. He must have, or Ahsoka would still be here. He has failed as a Jedi, because Jedi do not feel this much. He would give anything not to feel. He is failing as a general too. His mind is not on the fight and his men suffer for it. He should call Padmé. She would be a breath of air to stave off his slow suffocation. She is better off without him, just like everyone else would be. He’s failed them all. She will see it one day—they all will—and then she’ll be gone. He will fail as a husband too, and it will be the last piece of him to crumble.

He is too weak for her to leave him just yet. He needs her. He longs for hands not marred by callouses—her hands—to slide across the places he feels numb.

He needs to be better for her.

There is a morning while they are en-route to Coruscant where the thought of seeing another face—of hiding his own—is too much. He is sapped of will. Anakin knows he should get up from the bunk he has been lying in wide-eyed for hours. He cannot. Surely the crew does not need him to stand on the bridge and tell them to fly straight.

He gets away with it. No one asks for him and he never leaves his cabin that day. He gets up from the bunk once to use the fresher and drink a few sips from the tap. Anakin is not sure if he is grateful or disappointed. The thought of trying it again sometime lets him feel something as close to hope as he gets these days. Anticipation. This is what he needs, Anakin knows as his eyes trace the familiar metal seam above his head. He needs a chance to slow down, clear his head, get himself in order. He needs to be better—a better Jedi, a better husband, a better friend—for the people he still has left. Tomorrow he will get up and he will be better.

_Present Day_

Today is Padmé’s off day and Anakin tries to savor his time with her. He muscles his way through breakfast, wishing she would look away for a moment. They move back to the couch and Anakin plays with Padmé’s hair while she talks. It is long and dark and smooth, so unlike his own, which is always coarse and too fluffy or too stringy. He is letting it grow out, though. The added weight has settled it somewhat. Hers is still better. It is beautiful in the way that everything about Padmé is.

He scratches at her scalp and she stops talking about Senate business to make little noises of pleasure in her throat. “Don’t ever stop,” she tells him. She twists her head to get the best angle. “I’ve been doing all the talking,” Padmé says. “It’s your turn.”

“I like it when you talk. Besides, nothing much interesting has been happening on my end.” It is true. His life is much the same from one day to the next.

“Tell me anyway. I want to know how you’ve been.”

Anakin casts about for something to say. He gives up. “Honestly, it’s just the same stuff as usual. Blowing up droids, protecting civilians, waiting around for more droids.”

Padmé turns to look at him. His throat closes. “What time is Ahsoka coming?”

“She—didn’t say.”

Padmé looks pointedly at their sleepwear. “I think we’d probably better get dressed then.”

He freezes for a second, shoves the panic down. _I’ve worked around it so far_ , he reminds himself. Anakin gives his wife a crooked grin. “I guess we’re not quite fit for company.”

Anakin changes quickly while Padmé is in the closet choosing an outfit. He feels along his jaw and decides he ought to shave.

“Would you like to do my hair?” Padmé asks a few minutes later.

He stands behind her while she sits at the vanity and weaves her hair into six braids. Anakin twists those into a bun and pins them how she taught him. “How’s that?”

“Perfect,” she says.

She smiles and for a moment he feels almost normal. If he can still make Padmé smile, he must not be so bad. The moment flees, and he remembers Padmé would not be smiling if she knew.

He feels a familiar ping in the Force. “Ahsoka’s nearly here,” he says.

Threepio lets her in when she arrives. Padmé gets up immediately to greet her, but Anakin hangs back by the couch to ready himself.

It’s easier this time, though. Ahsoka’s visit is casual and uncomplicated. Padmé’s presence helps. He is able to fade into the background while the two of them catch up. He even avoids eating most of his lunch.

Anakin gets roped into playing hologames with Ahsoka. Padmé has never much cared for them, but Anakin is forced to defend his title as best racer in Malastare Mania IV. “I’ll get you one of these days, Master,” Ahsoka promises as she always does after losing once again.

“Not likely,” he counters.

“I hate to boost his ego, but he’s probably right,” Padmé chimes in.

Ahsoka feigns offense. “Thanks for the support.”

“We’re just telling it like it is,” Anakin says.

Ahsoka leaves in the afternoon. “I don’t want to take up all your time together,” she says. “Especially since you both have the day off.”

“Bye, Snips.”

She darts to his side and hugs him tightly. “See you later, Skyguy. Comm me.”

 _Comm_ _her?_ “Okay,” he says.

She and Padmé embrace, and then his padawan is gone again.

“Dinner?” Padmé suggests when Anakin does not move.

“Okay,” he says.

The awkwardness grows after that. There is a script for the rest of their evening, but Anakin cannot follow it and Padmé seems unsure how to change course. His refusal this morning hangs in the air between them. It had been forgotten, shoved aside, while Ahsoka was here. Now that they are alone again his actions drive a wedge between them. Anakin hates it, but there is nothing he can do. In the end, this way will hurt Padmé less.

He should find a way to stop hurting her altogether. If he cannot make her happy, he should leave her alone. The thought of leaving Padmé stabs him. He has always known he cannot live without her. For her sake, he should stay far away. He is working on that. The answer is not a difficult one, but he has to find a way not to hurt her in the process first.

That night, he holds her while she sleeps. Her breaths are gentle and even. He needs to make her happy this week. Then he will be back on the front lines where he cannot hurt her or anyone else. That is the place he should be. That is the place he should stay.

_Six Months Earlier_

Anakin honestly can’t remember when he last bathed. A week’s worth of leave is their reward for winning a siege on a slimy mudhole of a planet. Grit and grease seeps through him, coats him, and drags at him with its weight. Food is a concept, a memory. He shies away at the thought of it. Bones jump from his skin. He traces their lines with weary eyes and heavy hands. They are the only part of himself he can stand to see. His constant headache fuzzes his brain and muffles thoughts that were once loud. He cannot stand to change these things. If he holds himself still, stops everything that marks the turning of days to nights and back again, perhaps the world will stop moving too. It has not yet, but he digs in his heels and drags it back. Life marches forward. He hears the beat of it and his headache throbs in rhythm with it.

“Anakin.” _Don’t speak,_ he thinks. “Anakin.” _Not to me. I want to be left alone._ “ _AN_ akin.” _Please._ “Anakin!”

“What?” _Let it be something simple, something I can answer._

“I said your name four times.”

“Oh. Sorry, Obi-Wan.” _I am. Just leave me be._

“Where were you yesterday? I had thought you’d be at the sabacc tournament.”

“I forgot about it,” he says.

“What’s troubling you?”

He wants to be alone so he can scream. “Nothing. I was just thinking.”

“About?”

“Bed. It’s a place I haven’t been in a while.”

“Yes, you look as if you haven’t slept in days. Why don’t you go? I believe we’re almost done here. You might as well get a few hours of sleep before we make planetfall.”

“You sure?” _Be sure, Obi-Wan._

“Oh, yes. Get out of here while you can. Force knows we all could use a break.”

He tries not to run out of the room.

Three hours. The deck sergeant had said they had three hours before the larties needed to be loaded and ready to head for the planet. Anakin ought to shower. He would be seeing Padmé soon. She wouldn’t want a filthy husband. On top of that, there would probably be reporters when they landed. The conquering heroes returning home from a major victory would be big news tonight. He has to be who they need.

Being with Padmé is wonderful. He feels like he can breathe again for the first time in months.

“Mother goddess, you look thin, Ani.”

He curses inwardly. Of course Padmé would notice, even if no one else has commented. “It’s been a lean few months,” he says.

“Is it a funding problem? I hate prolonging the war by throwing more money at it, but I can work on a supplies bill. I’d hate it if the way I vote is making you go hungry.”

“No!” He does not like the direction she is going. “It’s been hard to keep supply lines open, is all. Sieges take a lot out of both sides.”

She rubs his arm and presses a kiss to his bony shoulder. “I’m sorry it’s like this. I wish there was something I could do to help.”

“Hey,” he cups her chin in his hand. She feels warm. He does not want to lie to her. “It’s not your fault.” That much is true. “I think things will be better soon.” With an angel in his arms, Anakin can almost believe it.

_Present Day_

Anakin sits by the fountain in the early morning light. Trickling water was once an exotic sound to him. The novelty of it is long gone, but he still hopes it will bring peace as he searches for a solution.

At some point this week, Padmé is going to expect intimacy. She will be confused and hurt if he continues to keep his distance. While he is ashamed of his panic yesterday, he is grateful that it seems to have bought him some time. She should be happy. Anakin wants to make her happy. At the same time, he is terrified of her reaction if she sees what he has become, physically and emotionally. The thought of being so vulnerable makes his hand shake and his throat ache hollowly. He shivers.

So far, he has disguised his thinness with extra layers of clothing and made use of the thick blanket between them at night. He has never made it a rule to go to bed shirtless, and that helps him now. If those barriers are removed, his physical state will be painfully obvious. Padmé will worry, which will be counterproductive.

He could convince Artoo to trigger some kind of emergency requiring Anakin’s attention at his signal. Perhaps an explosion near the clone barracks. Rex would call him in and of course Anakin would be forced to leave immediately and indefinitely to deal with the problem.

It is not a great plan. Someone could get hurt. Artoo could refuse to help or have some unforeseen difficulty fulfilling his mission. The call could come too late to be useful for Anakin, or he might not be called at all. Rex could call CorSec—unlikely, Rex is no fan of theirs—or the Coruscant Gaurd—much more likely, but he might be wary of them since what happened with Ahsoka—or Rex could simply handle things himself. Anakin could be ignored initially and only notified after things were taken care of. At which time he could get apprehended for arson. Really, the plan is terrible.

He could try to use Ahsoka’s presence as an excuse, have her come back and stay the night. They would both be suspicious and Padmé would be hurt. He dismisses that idea. He cannot think of anything that does not end in that result.

He could lie, if he can find a plausible explanation. Something that will upset her only on his account. Hurt disappears faster if it is felt for someone else. What can he say to get out of undressing for his wife? He almost laughs. It’s an odd problem to have. He could tell her he was captured by Separatists last month—which is true, Obi-Wan and the entire 501st can confirm it—and well, it was worse than usual and it’s not anything personal but he doesn’t want to be with her right now.

Anakin can picture saying it to her. He can see himself hanging his head and whispering the words, but he can also see her reaction will be more than he can handle. She will probably go to Obi-Wan for more details or try to convince Anakin to see a mind healer or something else unexpected and equally disastrous.

 _If she gets thwarted once, she’ll try again_ , he realizes. A good enough lie might hold her off indefinitely, but that takes him back to the problem of a lie he can uphold and how to make her happy in the meantime.

If she wouldn’t think he looks like a recovering prison camp escapee, this would not be a problem. But Anakin cannot change what he is, much less alter his appearance in the next twenty-four hours. Besides, he likes the way he looks. He takes up less space this way, taints less of the world. He feels better. He cannot go back.

It hits him. _Maybe I’m thinking about this wrong. If I can make Padmé not want to be with_ me, _I won’t_ _hurt her by implying I don’t want to be with her_. For once, something makes sense. If he can get her angry enough, Anakin can avoid making a mess of this. He’s going to need some time to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost a week late--and later than I predicted in the comments--but here it is! I've spent several days trying to get this chapter to sound right. Developing three individual and in-character narrative voices is hard, that's all I can say. Thank you, lovely readers who continue to enjoy and engage with my story. Your continued interest is an excellent motivator.  
> I realize that this chapter might not have entirely clarified what's going through Anakin's head. The truth is he's not sure either and I have to reflect that. I left you some hints to tide you over.  
> Do you want me to continue telling you which POV is up next, or would you guys prefer a surprise?


	4. Ahsoka

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas, everyone! To those who don't celebrate it, have a fantastic and blessed day anyway. Consider this slightly early chapter a present. I hope you enjoy and I'd love to hear what you think of it. This chapter feels kind of abrupt to me, but I'd love your opinion on whether the pacing worked or not.  
> Also, I made some extremely minor edits to Chapter 1. (I've done that with various posted chapters previously and will continue to do so, but this will be your only notification of a minor change like a wording choice. If a plot point or important detail is changed, I will notify you.)

“You’re back,” the woman sprawled across Ahsoka’s couch drawls. “I hope your little friends are well.”

“Save it, Baldy,” she snaps.

“Feeling sensitive, aren’t we? I had thought some time out of the apartment might cheer you up. But it seems the famous foul moods of the Togruta only grow fouler with time.”

Ahsoka groans and leaves the living area to search for something to eat. “Remind me why we’re living together again?” she says.

“We need each other, darling,” her roommate calls. “I help you, you help me.”

“No, you need an alibi and think I need someone around to make my life miserable.” Ahsoka turns around, unimpressed by the way the other woman vaults off the couch to mock her from a better vantage.

“Your life was already miserable. Here I am, just trying to improve it with my company.”

“And your unasked-for life advice.”

“There’s no need to get hostile.”

“What do you want?”

She freezes, eyebrows lifted and mouth open. The expression disappears under another layer of sarcasm. “I want you to quit moping around all the time so I can watch my evening holodramas in peace. You’ve never been a civilian and you can’t be until you learn how. You reach for your lightsabers that aren’t there anymore every time I clank two pots together. Don’t think I don’t notice the nightmares either. Or the way you can’t stop thinking about your old master.”

Ahsoka wants to say she’s wrong. She wants to say, “you don’t know the first thing about me.” That would be a lie. She says, “do you ever think about your master?”

“I’ve left many things behind,” Ventress says dismissively. The Dathomiri woman catches Ahsoka’s eye. “That doesn’t mean they have left me.”

She asked the question, but Ahsoka still feels stunned by the genuine answer. She blurts, “we’re not that different you know.”

Ventress rolls her eyes. “I know. The difference is that I knew that months ago and you’re an idiot.”

“Am not!”

“Mhm. Losing out only to battle droids and Representative Binks.”

“Gee, thanks. I think that’s a little uncalled for.”

“Perhaps,” she says. “Now, go figure out what to do with your life now that you know you can’t continue on like this. I’m missing my holodrama.”

Ahsoka shuts the bedroom door and leans back on it. “Pleasant interaction with roommate for the day, check. Now what?” She surveys her closet of a bedroom. The buzzing murmur of the holodrama filters in, much like the grey light from the window. Both feel cold.

Ventress is right: she is not happy here. Her unhappiness is not the kind that disappears after a brush with her old life. It is not the kind that eases after a day of handing caf cups to grouchy patrons. It is not the kind of unhappiness that is fixed by trying to be something she is not. _Why did it take a former Sith assassin to see that? Why can’t I do this on my own?_

Ahsoka has failed. So many times, she has proved herself. She has fought against impossible odds and won. But in this, in trying to live a life built by her own two hands, she has failed. She has failed to be content. It hurts.

She thinks of how many times she has gotten back up. If you crash the ship, you get back in the cockpit. She will live. Sometimes, you have to do a little repair work first. She needs a plan.

Ahsoka pulls the blanket off her bed and wedges herself in the corner of her closet. She thinks about it, but she does not know how to be happy. She has always found joy in doing. She has also found it in being. When Ahsoka is who she wants to be, she is happy. As of right now, she is not who she wants to be, or even who she thought she was. She needs to find her center.

She reaches into herself for the first time in months to meditate. She sees a flash of herself, laughing. She grins fiercely at her master, chokes on her food in a mess hall somewhere, ducks before Master Kenobi can swat her shoulder, looks back a herself and Senator Amidala through a mirror. She yanks the controls of a ship, shouts an order, hides her blush as Master Anakin says, “You did well.” The Force thrums around and through her. _This is it. Here you are._

She opens her eyes to the darkened closet. It is not the place she hopes to be, but that can change. She needs advice. Ahsoka cycles through everyone she knows. There is only one person she trusts who has always known where he belongs. The good news is, he might even be happy to see her.

The speeder ride across the city flies fast. She stops herself from slouching as she walks to his door. She knocks before she can change her mind.

“Rex,” she says when he opens the door.

“Commander.”

“I know it’s late. And I’ve been kind of an idiot and I should have called and I feel like I abandoned you,” she is babbling but she can’t stop, “and it was an awful thing for me to do.”

“Slow down. What’s wrong?”

Ahsoka hangs her head. “I need your advice.”

He steps backwards and opens the door wider. “Come on in then.” He takes a seat on the bed and leaves the desk chair for her.

“I think we should clear this up before you start. I’m not mad about what happened. The General would say the whole mess was a pile of poodoo. It can’t be changed now. You did what you could.”

“That doesn’t mean I didn’t hurt a lot of people.”

“No,” he sighs. “It doesn’t.”

“I’m sorry. I should’ve done better by you.”

He reaches across the space between them to take her hand. “It’s alright. You were hurt yourself. The distance might have done you some good, even if it wasn’t the best thing for some other people. You always care about everyone, but you have to look after yourself sometimes.”

“Thank you,” she says softly.

Rex sits back and claps his hands on his thighs. “So, tell me why you need my advice.”

Ahsoka takes a moment to order her thoughts. Rex waits patiently. He has always been a good listener. “I’m stuck in a rut,” she says. “Ever since I left I haven’t known who I am anymore. I was a Jedi for most of my life and then that was suddenly gone. And I tried to put it behind me and move on, but I feel like I’m not going anywhere.

“And every time I’m reminded of what happened, I hate myself for just giving up and leaving. But I’d leave again if I had to.” She laughs angrily. “That doesn’t even make any sense. I don’t know what’s right anymore. I tried to tell myself I did the right thing. Sometimes I even believe it. I just can’t understand why it hurts so much. And then I tell myself I’m being a bad Jedi for not letting go of my feelings. But I’m not a Jedi so it doesn’t matter. I’m just so confused.”

Rex studies her face. “I don’t mean to dismiss you, sir, but why are you asking me?”

“Remember when we first met? You told me experience outranked everything. I’m asking you because you have the most experience in knowing yourself. You know who you are,” she says. “You know how to be at peace with _where_ you are. And I trust you to tell me how I can find myself.”

Rex frowns. “Never really looked at it that way. See, I don’t think about myself in terms of who or where I am. I think about who I want to be, and I try to be that vod as best I can. If I mess it up, I know how to do better next time. So maybe you should ask yourself who you want to be, sir.”

Ahsoka thinks. “I want to be someone who helps people. I miss that about being a Jedi—feeling like I was doing good. That changed at the end, and that’s part of why I left. I want to be someone with purpose, I guess. It’s been a long time since I thought there was a point to what I was doing.”

“I don’t know what you should do to give yourself purpose,” Rex says. “I’ve always known my purpose from the minute I came out of the gestation tube. But I’ll be here for you while you figure it out.”

“You’re a good friend. I want to be a better one.”

Rex gives her a sad smile. “You are a good friend. You’ve always seen people where most sentients see property. That makes you the best kind of friend a clone can have.”

“I don’t mean a friend to the clones, Rex. I mean a friend to you.”

He chuckles. “See, that’s just what I mean. You’ll be fine.”

They share a companionable quiet. Rex picks up the armor pieces spread across his bed—he must have been cleaning them before she arrived—and starts wiping them down again. The cloth moves back and forth, adding shine to a pristine set of gear.

“Hey, Rex?”

“Yeah?”

“How bad was it when I left? Did you—was everyone—I’m not trying to say I think I’m the most important thing in the galaxy or anything, but when I was on the platform everyone just acted like I’d been gone on vacation.”

Rex sighs, puts the armor down, picks it back up again. “Don’t get me wrong, it was hard when you left. We’re all used to losses, but the boys really look up to you. You’re like an honorary vod. We missed you, so of course we were all happy to see you.”

Ahsoka swallows. She picks at a hangnail and avoids the captain’s eyes. “Master Anakin didn’t seem very happy to see me. On the outside he tried to look happy, but in the Force he mostly just felt—empty.” Their conversation had been nearly normal on the surface, but there was an undercurrent of uneasiness. She had felt it the first day, and again at Padmé’s apartment. The topic of Ahsoka’s absence had barely come up, which she realized now was a bad indication. Anakin was vocal when angry, but tended to avoid talking when he felt other negative emotions.

She looks up when Rex doesn’t answer. He feels like wariness in the Force, hesitancy. She almost expects him to get up and check for listening ears outside the door. “The General took it hard when you left,” he says cautiosly. “Harder than anybody else. I think something about him broke and it hasn’t fixed yet. It took a while for me to notice. The changes started slow. But they went downhill fast. If he wasn’t glad to see you I think it’s because he’s forgotten how to be happy in general.”

“Is it my fault, because I left?”

“No. Whatever’s going on with General Skywalker, that isn’t just a broken heart, though he was pretty cut up about you leaving. It’s a mental change, not just an emotional one. And I don’t think it started when you left or that it’s something you could have stopped.”

 _I broke his heart,_ Ahsoka thinks. _And I knew I was going to before I did it._ She throws her flash of self-disgust into the Force and thinks, _Rex is right. I knew he was slipping before I left._

“Small comfort,” she says.

“He’s a good general. Better than anyone else I could hope to be put with. All those reporters say he was made to fight for the Republic. They’re wrong though. General Skywalker is good at fighting because he was born to protect his family. He’s wasted on wars.”

Ahsoka feels a surge of affection for Rex. _Attachment,_ a voice whispers in her head. _Kriff you,_ she thinks back at it. She’s not a Jedi anymore. There is no use pretending.


	5. Padmé

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very late and I'm very sorry. Life has been crazy and I could not figure this chapter out. I love your comments--seriously, they were my main motivation to get this done--but the ones for the last chapter made me realize that this chapter needed a complete makeover and home renovation. I knocked down some load-bearing walls, folks.  
> But here it is, much better than the original. The dialogue is actually nuanced and the characters's actions make sense, which is a plus.

Padmé pretends everything is normal as she goes through her day at the Senate. It is not her natural inclination to be insincere, but needs must. After all, she can’t very well explain her distracted behavior by saying she is worried about her secret husband. She takes notes during the committee meeting to maintain her focus and hopes that Bail will be able to fill in any gaps. He notices that she is not quite present as the Quarren senator across from her drones on, but thankfully he makes no comment. She prays her absentmindedness is not visible to anyone else at the table. Padmé wishes the current session would wrap up so she could grab a quick lunch and compare impressions with Bail. She has a meeting with a Jedi Council member in an hour.

The meeting runs late and she only has time for a few words with Bail in the hall. She pats her hair down and walks into her office. “So sorry to keep you waiting—oh! Obi-Wan! I wasn’t sure who would be coming today.”

“Senator Amidala,” he stands and bows. “A pleasure, as always.”

“Please, sit,” she says. “I hope you haven’t been here long. Would like anything to eat? I can get some tea brought in. I haven’t had a chance to have lunch yet myself.”

“I’ve no need of food, Senator. But feel free to eat yourself. You must be busy.”

She comms her reception room. “Could you please have some lunch sent in?” She looks questioningly at Obi-Wan. He nods. “And a tea service for two.”

“Yes, Senator. Right away.”

Padmé sits in the chair behind her desk and arranges her dress. “Let’s get down to business, shall we?”

Padmé is grateful they do not have much to cover; keeping her expression professionally detached is more difficult than usual. She works more closely with the Order than most senators. As such, they keep her on pertinent developments in the war—provided she has clearance, naturally. By the time lunch arrives, they are finishing up.

“We thought we were close to ending the war,” Obi-Wan says. “But they’re starting the call the Outer Rim campaign the Outer Rim Sieges. We’re nearly at a stalemate. But you didn’t hear that from me.”

“Of course not,” she answers smoothly. “You were saying?”

“I expect they’ll be sending Anakin and me to deal with the situation shortly. If anything can finish this war, it’ll be The Team. Or so everyone says.”

“You don’t think so?”

Obi-Wan sighs. He fiddles with his teacup. “You know, sometimes I worry that I’m holding him back. Anakin is capable of true greatness, but I don’t believe he has achieved it yet.” He’s right for all the wrong reasons. She opens her mouth, not sure what to say but needing to respond.

Obi-Wan cuts her off. “This tea is quite excellent. Alderaanian?”

Padmé lets the previous topic drop. “Yes. Bail takes pity on me and keeps me supplied with it, though I suspect it’s on Breha’s instruction. She insists one should never be caught without tea on hand.”

“A creed to live by,” he says sagely. They share a smile. “How have you been?” Obi-Wan asks.

“The refugee bill is keeping me busy,” she says. “I haven’t had much time for anything else, honestly.”

“Have you seen Anakin this week?”

“He came by yesterday. He brought Ahsoka.”

Obi-Wan’s brow furrows. “Really? How is she?”

“She seems well. It was almost like old times, with both of them there.”

“I fear it will never be quite like that again,” he says, practically voicing Padmé’s thoughts. “Too much has changed.”

“Yes,” she agrees sadly.

He opens his mouth to say something further when her comm buzzes. “Senator Amidala, the Pantoran senator is here to see you.”

“Tell her I’ll be with her in a moment,” Padmé instructs.

“I believe that’s my cue,” Obi-Wan says. They stand. He kisses her hand. “Wonderful to see you, Padmé. Thank you for lunch.”

“Thank you for joining me. It’s never fun eating alone at my desk.”

She shows him out. Senator Chuchi stands from one of the chairs in the waiting room. “Senator Amidala,” she says in her lyrical accent.

Padmé beckons her. “Do come in, Senator. We have much to do.”

So much to do, in fact, that Padmé does not get home until after nightfall. She walks through the door already pulling out hairpins. “Threepio,” she calls.

“Yes, mistress?” He waddles stiffly into the room. She should have his joints oiled again.

“Is Anakin home?”

“No, my lady. He said he needed to put in an appearance at the Temple.”

“Did he say when he’d be back?”

“Tomorrow, if he can manage it. He mentioned Master Kenobi had been asking questions,” Threepio adds.

“Right,” Padmé says. The prospect of another day spent trying not to show her worry for Anakin is not an encouraging one. “Did Artoo go with him?”

“Yes, mistress.”

Padmé looks around her empty apartment. “Threepio, why don’t you get started on dinner? I’ll come help in just a minute. I’m going to invite my staff up here to eat.”

“Oh! Of course, mistress. I should be delighted to prepare something special for the evening meal.”

Padmé often shares meals with her staff. They have long since become friends, and good company to spend her evening with is a welcome change from the maneuvering of senators or the loneliness of an apartment she shares with only a protocol droid. Tonight, Typho and Rabé come up. Their laughter provides a welcome relief. If Padmé is a greater advocate of the wine than usual, they do not complain.

It is always difficult when Anakin is away. Being married has changed how Padmé views being alone. Having him nearby but out of reach is a small comfort—it is better than worrying about him being on a battlefront halfway across the galaxy—but it is frustrating. His recent behavior is distressing. She got through today by promising herself she would talk to him tonight, but he’s not here. Padmé almost wants to march into the Jedi Temple and demand they work through whatever it is that’s bothering him.

Demanding answers is a tactic that rarely works with him. Anakin is much more likely to open up with gentle encouragement than shouting. _Be patient,_ she tells herself. _He’ll be back tomorrow. You can talk to him then._

Anakin doesn’t come back the next night. Padmé gets a comm instead. “This is Padmé.”

“Senator, might I have a private word?” Anakin’s voice says.

“I’m alone,” she says. “Go ahead.”

“Something’s come up. I’m not going to be back tonight.”

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

“Jedi thing. Need-to-know,” he says brusquely.

“Oh.” She can’t think of anything else to add. They both keep secrets, professionally and personally. Someday, they won’t have to, but that day will not come in wartime.

“Sorry.”

“Will I get to see you again before you leave?”

Anakin says, “I hope so. I should be back by tomorrow afternoon. I already got debriefed and given my next assignment.”

“Well, come home when you can. I miss you. Thank you for letting me know.” Padmé adds, “I love you.”

“I love you too, Padmé. So much. I’m sorry things are like this.”

“Me too,” she says.

“Bye.”

Padmé sets the comm down. Another night of worrying. Another day waiting. Tomorrow is her last chance to see him before he leaves again for Goddess knows how long—weeks at least. Last time he was gone for two months.

She abandons the view of the Coruscant skyline in her living room for the privacy of her bedroom. The pillows on her bed are arranged invitingly. She resists the urge to scream into them and pulls out her comm instead.

“Hello?” the woman on the other end asks.

“Hi, Sola. It’s Padmé.”

“Padmé! It’s so good to hear from you! How have you been?”

“Stressed,” Padmé says.

“Oh? About what?”

“Lots of things,” Padmé tells her big sister. It is easy to fall into confidence with Sola, as she has done since childhood. “My bill in the Senate is coming together well, but there’s such a rush to get it passed. Every second it waits to get passed someone else suffers.”

“I’m sure you’re doing the best you can,” Sola says. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. What else?”

“You know when I told you about what happened with Anakin’s padawan, Ahsoka?”

“Yeah. It was in the news too. I remember the Jedi had to do some fancy maneuvering to smooth things over. Why, did something happen to her?”

“She got back in contact last week. I think she’s doing alright, but I haven’t spent much time alone with her because Anakin came home on leave this week. Things were oddly normal between them for what a fiasco her departure was, but he was behaving strangely in general. I’ve been worried about him since she left the Order, but I think something is really going on with him.”

“Men. Goddess only knows how they think. What’s he doing that has you so worried?”

 _He doesn’t want to be intimate with me, he’s not nearly as happy as usual to be home, I don’t think he’s been sleeping or eating regularly._ She thinks of something to say that is not as telling as her mental list. “I feel like he’s avoiding me, even when we’re in the same room. It’s like he’s hiding something.”

“People who have been hurt emotionally often respond by refusing to open up. It’s a protective instinct,” Sola says.

“I understand that. It’s just an out-of-character thing for Anakin specifically to do. He’s generally very honest about how he feels.”

“He is a Jedi, though, Padmé. The way they deal with feelings doesn’t make much sense to me.”

 _You don’t understand,_ Padmé thinks. _How could you?_ “Thanks for listening,” she says.

“Anytime.”

“So how are you? How are the girls doing in school?”

Padmé falls asleep listening to Sola narrate Pooja’s field trip to a shaak farm.

She comes home from work the next day and prepares to flop on the couch, but finds it already occupied.

“Anakin!” She puts a hand to her chest.

“Hey,” he says and goes back to staring at the wall.

_Hey? That’s it? Like he hasn’t spent most of the little time we have together at the Temple? Like we comm all the time? Like we’re the normal kind of couple that doesn’t need big gestures because they know when they’ll see each other again?_

“When did you get here?” she prods.

“’Bout an hour ago.”

“Have you eaten dinner yet?”

“Yes.”

“Well that’s fine, go ahead without me,” she says.

“Obi-Wan, Ahsoka, and I went out.”

Padmé deflates. She takes a moment to calm herself and then says, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped. It’s fine that you did that. Great, actually. I’m just tired and hungry. I’m just going to heat up some soup for myself.”

Normally, this is where Anakin jumps up and tells her canned soup is an abomination and she should sit down and let him cook here something—he’s the chef in this partnership, Padmé usually manages not to burn anything beyond salvageability. Today, he doesn’t even comment.

Padmé brings her steaming bowl into the living room and takes the cushion not occupied by Anakin’s legs. She blows on her soup while Anakin flips through holonet channels. They catch the end of a piece about the Chancellor. Anakin flips the station again as a story about him and Obi-Wan comes on. He settles on a sports channel and they watch Umgullian blob racing. It is an absurd sport, but fascinating to watch. Padmé takes her time eating the soup, letting peace linger between them.

She sets her bowl aside after the straggling blobs cross the finish line. “Can you turn that off?” He doesn’t move, so she nudges him with her finger. “I want to talk to you.” Anakin clicks the holoprojector into darkness and looks at her expectantly.

“So,” she starts carefully, “I noticed you’ve seemed a bit off this week. Is something the matter?”

“No,” he says, sitting up straight.

“Are you sure? This isn’t about suddenly Ahsoka turning up again, is it?”

“No. Nothing’s the matter,” he says.

Padmé gives up on the gentle prompting. “Anakin, I know something’s wrong. You’ve barely eaten in my presence the whole time you’ve been here and you’re far less talkative than usual.”

Anakin crosses his arms and shifts farther into the couch. They were already sitting on separate cushions, but the distance has gone from uneasy to tense. Anakin says, “I told you, there’s nothing wrong with me.”

Padmé glares and waits him out. He glares right back. “Don’t try to out-stubborn me,” she warns. Softer she says, “Anakin, please. Just tell me.”

He looks away when her tone changes. When he looks back, his jaw is set in the same way as when something he really means with Obi-Wan. “It was just a hard mission. Being back on Coruscant where everyone acts so normal after months and months of—it’s just hard.” He glances at her and looks away again. He sounds sincere, but his expression rings her alarm bells.

“I could almost believe you—I _want_ to believe you—but whatever happened Taungsday morning is making that difficult. It might be part of the truth. I know this war is hard on you. But I can see that isn’t the whole story because you’re not reacting the way you normally do when you’re upset about something. _I know you,_ ” she pleads, “and whoever’s in that head of yours isn’t you. So tell me, what is this about? Is it something that’s between us, something personal, or an outside problem?”

Anakin looks hard at the floor. His jaw works.

“Please,” Padmé says. “I just want to help you.”

He opens his mouth, snaps it shut again. “You wouldn’t understand,” he says.

“Try me.”

“No.”

 _This is not going how I’d hoped_ , she thinks. She tries to keep her expression open while she asks, “Why not?”

“Just stop!” His hands are in fists and the caf table shifts a few inches even though neither of them is touching it. Padmé freezes. Anakin springs up. “You can’t understand because you’ve never seen the things I have, you’ve never done them. You haven’t thought how I think, and I hope you never do!” The couch beneath her stops shaking but the bowl in her hands doesn’t. Anakin stands, pale and wild.

“Ani—”

“I’m leaving,” he blurts.

“What?” She puts the stupid, shaking bowl down on the table and stands.

“I can’t do this.” He gestures between them. “I thought I could, but I can’t. I’m sorry.” His cloak is thrown haphazardly over a chair. He calls it with the Force and puts it on as he walks to the door.

“Anakin, wait! I don’t understand. Where are you going?”

He twitches and stops, but he does not turn around. “I’m sorry, Padmé. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Padmé scrabbles for something to say to make him reconsider. She plays her last card. “Are you just going to leave without saying goodbye? What if this next assignment is your last? Things happen in warzones. You always say you’ll come back, but what if you never do? Do you want our last moments together to be like this? My last memory to be of you walking away?”

His shoulders slump. “No.” He walks back to her. Anakin wipes her cheek with a warm hand and Padmé realizes she is crying, but she looks and there is a wet line on his cheek as well. “Don’t cry, Angel. It’s not your fault.” He leans in and kisses her lips. His are cold and dry, like a dead thing’s. He closes his eyes; Padmé’s stay open. He smiles as he pulls away. “I’ll be fine. I love you.”

“Anakin, I—”

“Shh.” He kisses her forehead in parting. Then he is gone.

She wipes her face with her hands, but hot trails continue to trickle down her cheeks. She laughs. It is a wet, miserable sound. “That was a disaster,” she says. Her only comfort is that she had the foresight to send Threepio to get an oil bath. At least she can cry in peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Review! Let me know how disappointed you are in my tardiness, how grateful you are that I stayed up too late on a school night finishing this just for ya'll, or how much you think Anakin is a misunderstood idiot.  
> Next chapter we switch over to him and get some action and h/c, except there's mostly h and little-to-no c. Anakin is way easier to write than Padme, so that one might actually be out by next Wednesday.  
> Also, Umgullian blob racing is a real thing. Check it out on Wookiepedia. The article reads like a crackfic and I love it. I just wanted someone to watch a sport besides podracing for once, you know? And the opportunity to include this was too good to pass up.


	6. Anakin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Arrives vaguely late sucking on the dregs of a strawberry milkshake*  
> Hi, guys! I hope you enjoy the action-with-a-subtle-dose-of-angst in this chapter. I'm trying out action scenes; make my day by telling me what you think.

Rinndio II is a mid-size Outer Rim moon creatively named for Rinndi, the planet it orbits. The Katho’Rinn system has many interesting and delightful planets and moons. Rinndio II is not one of them. Its atmosphere is a nasty mixture of gases that slowly poisons most forms of life. The only plants are twisted grey shrubs that have no nutritional value. After a period of feeling dizzy and weak, most sentients fall unconscious and eventually die. This makes Rinndio II an excellent location for a Separatist base, because droids don’t need to breathe, but clone troopers—and most Jedi generals—do. According to the briefing, there are several bases scattered across the moon. Most likely they are droid production factories, as this planet has little strategic value outside of its status as a death-trap for most sentients.

Generals Kenobi and Skywalker have been tasked with shutting down Separatist operations on the moon. First, they have to find the Sepper bases. This means recon. They enter the planet in one small ship, leaving the majority of the troops behind on Destroyers hidden on the other side of the system and beyond Separatist patrol lines.

They strap into the portable air filtration units they will have to wear outdoors at all times. Anakin despises them. The mask is confining and obscures his periphery. After the battle for Mon Cala, he knows how easily their oxygen dependence can be used against his men. Padmé almost drowned in front of him. Anakin’s gear was ripped off in battle. Experience has shown him that dependence is a liability.

What really irks him is that it is a good strategy. The Separatists chose this planet because its very environment would fight against their enemies, which is exactly the kind of plan Anakin would come up with. Fighting battle droids is a routine part of his life. He used to relish the chance to outwit any marginally clever general the Seppies threw at him. But being pitted against an enemy with intelligence results in higher casualty rates, unless Anakin can be smarter than they are. It’s not worth the risk.

The moon’s geography is fairly uniform. It is a bleak landscape of killer gas, flat, sandy plains with no cover, and somewhere, killer droids. There is a notable mountain range in the southern hemisphere. They land there. It’s a good place to set up an operations base, what with its defensibility, hiding places, and ground slightly more defined by rock than sand. Hopefully, the Separatists think so too. There’s no time to waste in scouring the whole planet. Their scanners picked up no lifeforms, but that just means the droids do not have a sentient commanding officer on-planet.

They make camp on a rocky ledge with barely enough room to hold them. It’s the best they can do. There’s a nice view of the plummet to certain death from the doorway of Anakin’s tent. He lies in bed and doesn’t sleep. His comm buzzes from the floor and he reluctantly reaches down for it. _Angel_ , the identifier tells him, like it’s an agent calling in with secrets to share. In a way it is, because it’s Padmé, comming from their private channel for the third time since he left. For the third time, he sets the unit aside. He lies back down and rolls to face the wall.

The next day, they don’t find a droid factory in the mountains. They find a small base instead, with intel inside leading them to the three actual factories located on the moon. They also find a full complement of battle droids guarding the base. It’s easier than breathing—literally, in these circumstances—to slice through the droids.

The fight for the first factory is more complicated.

The thing about battlefields is that they are like black holes. The chaos and the noise and the fear and the energy all suck you in and consume every thought. You cannot think of the future, only the now. Obi-Wan always tells Anakin to keep his mind in the moment. In the field, the gunfire in his ears keeps him present. His vision is clear and his breaths are sharp. His lightsaber sings to him as he swings it to deflect blaster bolts.

Or at least, that is how Anakin used to feel.

His lightsaber screams through the air. Blaster bolts sizzle past his ears. Anakin looks left. Rex is behind him, using the cover Anakin provides to alternate shots from his pistols. To his right, Obi-Wan is also deflecting enemy fire. He is speaking to someone in his wrist comm. Hopefully he is calling in further air support. If they don’t get here soon, the cannons rolling towards them from over the hill will become a much bigger problem.

Obi-Wan sidesteps behind Anakin’s blade to say, “the fighters have run into some trouble. I think we’re on our own.”

“Kriff!” Rex shouts. “We’ve got to take out those cannons before they take _us_ out, sirs!”

“I know,” Anakin says.

“Rex, you take charge here. Anakin and I will try to flank them.”

“They’ll notice if both the Jedi disappear,” Anakin points out.

“Nothing we can do about that. The cannons have got to go.”

“Alright.” He brings his wrist comm to his face. “I need a bag of grenades.” A trooper runs up to press the strap of a backpack into his waiting hand, but he is too busy deflecting fire to see who. He slings it over his shoulder. “Let’s go!”

They almost make it around. Someone must notice their approach, though, because they start to come under heavy fire. And then one of the cannons they are trying to get behind swings around and blasts the ground from beneath their feet. The Force’s jolt of warning comes too late. They’re tossed like dice.

Anakin stands up as quickly as he can. The ground is spinning, but Obi-Wan is still, crumpled in the dirt a few stumbling steps away.

“Master!” Anakin crumbles beside him, sparing half his brain to watch for enemy fire. The cannon has kicked up a cloud of sand, which provides decent cover for the moment. That’s good, because Obi-Wan doesn’t look like he’ll be getting up any time soon. He is unconscious, which could mean any number of things Anakin doesn’t have the time to check for now. At least no bones are sticking out.

The worst problem is his cracked helmet. Anakin can’t find him a replacement and destroy the cannons before they decimate the troopers.

In the end, it is an easy decision. Anakin will have to be fast, but he can do this.

He makes sure Obi-Wan’s lightsaber is within arm’s reach in case he wakes up. The blast has thrown them back down the hill, so he should be out of the line of fire for now. Anakin unseals his helmet and replaces his master’s damaged one with his own. Then he runs.

There are four cannons. He jumps onto the first one and slices through the hatch lock. He reaches inside and makes short work of its robotic crew. Then he arms a grenade, tosses it inside, slams the hatch closed, and makes a running leap for the next one. This one has a battle droid waiting for him. He deflects the first shot in midair. He lands hard. Anakin’s vision wobbles. Pain spikes up his leg. A laser bolt stings him.

He would curse himself for his distraction, but the idea is to not breathe too much before he can take out the cannons. He can black out later. Right now, he needs to kill this droid. And stop being so exposed on the top of this cannon.

He repeats his performance from the first cannon, but this time when he jumps he falls short. Anakin’s fingers scramble to grip the top ledge. Everything goes dark for a second from the pain of dangling by his wounded arm. _Why does everything hurt so much?_ he wonders. Adrenaline should keep the pain at bay for now. _Maybe it’s from the oxygen deprivation and all the toxic gas._ Anakin is reminded of his priorities by a kick to his hand.

He looks up into the face of a battle droid. “Hands up,” it says in its nasal voice.

Anakin calls to the Force and launches himself upwards. He sails over and behind the droid. He slashes it apart.

He sits for a moment to collect himself. Things keep getting spinnier. _Is spinnier a word?_ He looks in the bag beside him. It has plenty of grenades to finish this job, but time is running out.

_Time. Time. Time! What am I doing? Warzones are no place for sitting around!_

He jumps up and things go black a second time. _I’m fine. Focus. Just blow the cannons,_ he tells himself. _You can do this, Anakin._

He checks over his shoulder and sees that the cannon beneath him is nearly within range to fire on the clones. _Time’s up._

He drops through the hatch. Two battle droids try to shoot him, but he can maneuver much more easily than they in the cramped space. He goes to the controls and turns his turret to the cannon next to him. One blast and his neighbor is out of commission.

Somehow, there is another droid with him. Anakin slices through it, but the thing manages to get a shot in. Or maybe too. His lightsaber is growing heavy and it is getting hard to keep his guard up.

Anakin is glad when it gets dark. Being awake was painful.

_I’m still alive_.

This is surprising. Anakin did not expect to be. Despite this, his realization is not very interesting. His body feels heavy from prolonged unconsciousness. He does not try to move. The Force thrums painfully. Anakin tries breathing deeply to dispel the feeling, which is when he notices the tube in his nose.

“He’s awake,” someone says.

The Force flares and settles back to its jangling thrum. He hears a scraping chair and shifting cloth but doesn’t bother to see who it is. “Anakin? Anakin, please look at me.”

He peers through slit eyelids. The room is brighter than staring at Tatoo I. There were two voices, so there must be two people. He turns his head and finds Obi-Wan. The second person remains a mystery.

“You’re finally awake.”

Anakin blinks. His master’s face does not get any clearer.

“How do you feel?”

He leaks numbness and heaviness into the Force. Obi-Wan nods. Anakin is surprised he can sense it through the noise banging through the Force.

“What did he say?” the unknown entity asks.

“He’s fine, Kix. Pleasantly high on drugs he shouldn’t need right now.” Obi-Wan looks back at him pointedly for that last part. “I’m not happy with you, Anakin. I’ve got lecturing and you’ve got explaining to do. But we’re going to save that for later when you aren’t looking so pathetic.”

It occurs to Anakin that the Force’s unpleasantness is a result of Obi-Wan. His master is angry. That is a new development. Generally, Obi-Wan’s shields keep a tight lid on his emotions. Anakin must be rubbing off on him.

“For now, my young padawan, get some rest. I can see you’re nodding off already.”

His eyes slide shut gratefully. He floats in the numbness until it drags him under.

_I’m in trouble._

He wakes again, and it is dark whether or not his eyes are closed. In the soft blackness, he pretends the bed is a larger one, on a planet far away. He imagines Padmé’s fingers in his hair. Ghost fingers trace his jaw. She fills a hole in him that nothing else can.

There is nothing but a whisper of her in the Force. His bond with her is strained by distance. No beautiful ferocity warms his senses. Anakin can rely on the Force to shatter his dreams. He often imagines waking up with his wife beside him, but the harsh reality of her missing Force presence always pulls her away.

It never stops being painful to be alone.

The ache of it rocks him back to sleep.

“Anakin.”

“What, Master?”

“You’ve got some explaining to do.” He folds his arms and looks at Anakin expectantly.

“I’m sorry, Master. I didn’t want to leave you there. I know it wasn’t a great option. But I couldn’t carry you and blow up the tanks without a mask.”

“That is not what I meant. I can understand why you made that decision, foolish as it was. And I am grateful that you attended to my wellbeing.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I know I shouldn’t be so attached. I can’t help it. But I’ve tried.” Anakin makes patterns with the wrinkles in his sheets.

“That is not what I meant, either. That is a conversation for another day, though Force knows we’ve had it often enough.”

“Sorry,” Anakin says.

“Stop apologizing.” Obi-Wan leans forward. “Anakin, please look at me. The one you should be apologizing to is yourself, and you know it. I just want to know why. Why are you doing this to yourself?”

“I don’t know what you mean. I’m fine. Maybe a little scratched up, but that’s it.”

Obi-Wan chokes. “Anakin, look at yourself. You’re skin and bones! You look like you’re slowly starving. And it’s because you are!” He waves his hand. “Kix said you’re extremely deficient in multiple necessary vitamins and minerals, on top of being dehydrated enough that it’s a wonder you’re still functioning. The only explanation for how you’re still standing that he could come up with was that you’ve been drawing on the Force, and I have to agree. You know you aren’t supposed to subsist only on the Force for long periods of time. I should hope the words ‘Force exhaustion’ ring a bell. And yet here we are. And have you slept at all in the past week? Don’t even get me started on your habits there!”

Obi-Wan pauses to collect himself. “So tell me,” he says, noticeably quieter than before, “what were you thinking when you decided to cease caring for yourself?”

Anakin studies the wall. He swallows and says, “I’m sorry, Obi-Wan. We’ve just been so busy. I haven’t had the time to sit down and eat. And I’ve had a little trouble sleeping, but that’s not a big deal.”

“Several of the clones claim you’ve taken over watches for them. All together, you’ve been up for far longer than your fair share of time lately.”

“They need it more than I do.”

“Because you have the Force and stims to keep you awake? You are a human being, Anakin. You cannot rely on those things indefinitely. Its effects on your health are very detrimental in the long term. I’m not sure why you feel the need to push yourself beyond your limits, but I know you know better. We’ve talked about this before.”

“I don’t know what you want.”

“I want you to take better care of yourself going forward. I want you to eat and sleep regularly and talk to me before things get this bad again. I want you to delegate duties so that you can take some time for yourself. And I want you to never scare me like that again. A few more minutes and you’d be dead right now. How many times must I tell you to think before you act? You could have used my mask. Even with the crack it would have slowed the poisoning. Were you being thoughtless or were you trying to get yourself killed?”

Anakin swallows. “I’m sorry, Master.”

“You can make it up to me by taking your medications and staying put without complaint. A tall order, I know, but I think you’ll manage.”

Anakin nodded. “Yes, Master.”

Obi-Wan stood up and smoothed his tunic. “Good. I need to make some calls and you need to rest. I’ll see you later.”


	7. Padmé

Anakin has been ignoring her calls for a solid two weeks now. Granted, she’s only had the chance to call a few times, and often the moments they can find to speak privately over comm do not coincide. He could have called back. It’s frequently difficult to talk to each other, yes, but Anakin had always found the time before. Or at least let her know that he wouldn’t be able to communicate for a while.

This utter radio silence makes her stomach twist. When she is alone, the memory of his last leave curls her shoulders forward. The rumors running through the city say he is injured, or dead. Some claim he’s disappeared. Padmé’s throat burns. It isn’t true. Official channels would have announced something like that. Rumors like this have periodically made the rounds since his face became recognizable across the galaxy.

She has a chance to escape the gossip, though. Queen Apailana has requested she return to Naboo for a conference on several matters of state. Padmé leaves in a few days. In the meantime, she has to find a stopping point in the never-ending work of a politician. She’s also got packing to do and staff to instruct. But first, Padmé has a friend to visit with.

Ahsoka sits on Padmé’s couch, a little stiff. Padmé brings their tea in and smiles as warmly as she can. “I’m glad you could come today.”

She relaxes. “So am I. It’s been a while since we just talked.”

“Yes, too long. I’d love to fix that. It’s just so hard to get away from work.”

Ahsoka nods. Padmé blows on her tea and takes an experimental sip. Ahsoka asks, “So how’ve you been?”

The tea scalds her tongue. Padmé winces. “I’ve had a lot on my mind lately,” she says. “The war just keeps escalating even though it feels like we’re getting nowhere, the refugee bill I’m working on desperately needs to be put into action but it’s getting nowhere fast, and I’ve been having some . . . personal difficulties lately.”

Ahsoka gives her a searching look. “Do you wanna talk about it?” Padmé hesitates. Ahsoka adds, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just figured you might since you brought it up.”

“I do and I don’t,” she says. “It’s complicated.” She tries another sip of tea. It is still on the hot side, but she does not kill any taste buds this time.

“Is this about Anakin?”

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, I’ve been getting the feeling that something is going on with him. Nobody really seems to know what it is, but he’s definitely been acting strange.”

"Yes, he has. I’m not really sure what else to say about it because I don’t know what’s wrong.”

"Yeah.” Ahsoka pauses. “Are you guys fighting?” she asks carefully.

Padmé schools her sour expression. She looks at Ahsoka—curious, innocent, concerned—and sighs gustily. “It’s complicated.” Padmé considers. _Ahsoka’s really the only person who can understand._ She decides to explain.

“We had a fight before he left, but it was a much bigger issue than it should have been. I’m not really sure what state we left things in. He . . . said some things before he left. And now he’s not returning my comms. I’m worried, but there’s nothing I can do.”

“That . . . doesn’t sound much like Master Anakin. You know, he was always sneaking off to comm you whenever there was privacy and no one shooting at us. Drove Master Kenobi crazy how fast he could disappear after a meeting.” She shakes off the nostalgia. “Are you sure there’s nothing? Maybe if you told Master Kenobi he could help.”

“Believe me, Ahsoka, if I thought Master Kenobi could help, I’d tell him. But I have yet to see either of them ever come out of a discussion together about their feelings satisfied. They just feed each other’s emotional constipation.” She wrinkles her nose. “That sounded gross.”

“Yeah, don’t say that again,” Ahsoka says.

“So,” Padmé changes the subject briskly, “I’m going back to Naboo for some business, but I’m being forced into taking a few days of vacation afterwards. Do you want to come?”

Ahsoka’s face opens in surprise, then furrows in consideration. “What will you be doing?”

“There’s a planetary conference that’ll take two or three days,” Padmé warns. “But after that I’ll go to the lakehouse and spend some time with my family in the city. The whole trip will be about a week and a half.”

Ahsoka considers. After a minute she smiles and says, “Okay, sure. I’d love to come.”

When Ahsoka leaves, Padmé feels lighter. Her worries aren’t gone, but inviting Ahsoka along makes her feel like she’s accomplished something. The galaxy is falling apart, but at least there is one thing in her life that is good and simple. Her secretary comms with an itinerary question and Padmé is pulled from her daydream.

It’s funny, that Padmé has known Ahsoka for years, thinks of her as something between a daughter and a friend, and yet they’ve never spent a significant amount of time together that was not in one way or another a part of the war effort. In a way it’s not surprising. War has defined every aspect of Padmé’s life for the past few years. If the galaxy could just get along, so much would be different.

“Why now?” Ahsoka’s asks as they speed through hyperspace, bound for Naboo. “I’m out of the loop for six months, then I call you up and suddenly everything’s back to normal with tea and diplomatic missions. It’s not that I don’t want to see you—I do—I just don’t get why you’d ask me now when it’s been so long.”

Padmé chuckled. “Wait until you’re a little older, Ahsoka. Six months won’t seem so long to go without speaking.” Ahsoka huffs. She looks small until Padmé sits down beside her. “You asked for space to grow on your own. I tried to honor that and not worry too much. But now that you’ve established a new life for yourself, I’ve missed you and I’m selfish enough to ask to be a part of what you’ve created.”

“Wow. You know, you might be the only person who really gets it.”

“I know a thing or two about making tough decisions,” Padmé says lightly.

Ahsoka ducks her head. “Yeah, I guess you do.”

They watch the streaks of the hyperspace tunnel speed past.

“Padmé?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks for understanding.”

Rain drums on the terrace steps of Varykino. They had plans to take the gondola out on a tour of the lake. When the downpour started, Ahsoka had shrugged and said, “I don’t mind. We can go tomorrow.” Instead they sit by a cheerful fire and soak in the knowledge that they are warm and dry while outside it is chilly and wet. Ahsoka is on the hearth, cross-legged and her back to the fire. The brightness of her face is smoothed by meditation. Padmé sits with a book of poetry on her lap. She alternates between reading a few lines and gazing out the window while the words soak in. Here in the peace of being with Ahsoka, Padmé unwinds in a way she hardly remembers how to do. It reminds her of the last time she felt at peace here.

_Three Years Earlier_

In the days just after they marry, Anakin’s new arm is difficult for him to use. He breaks enough of her cups with too tight a grip—and drops another when his grip is too loose in compensation—the she tells the staff to stop setting the table with the good china. He is terribly guilty over it, and the little circular bruises on her skin. When he sees them, he curls up as from from her as possible on the bed. Padmé tugs his arm, but he resists.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Please look at me,” she says, and he rolls onto his back. She lifts his hand and kisses each of his metal fingers. “I love all of you,” she says, willing him to believe her. She falls asleep with his hand resting on her heart.

She wakes alone. They left the windows open last night. The cold breeze of an early morning rain chills her. She rolls to face the window. Through the gauzy curtains Padmé can him on the balcony. She slips into the robe waiting on the end of the bed.

He is sitting on the railing, his back to her, poised as if to jump into the lake below. She presses herself to Anakin’s back and wraps her arms around him. She gasps softly as she touches his shirt. The front of it is cold and soaked with rain. Anakin leans his weight on her for balance and moves his arms to cover hers, protecting them from the rain.

It is an odd position. He sits balanced precariously on the thin rail. If she steps back, he will fall with her. If he lets go of her and Padmé pushes him, he will fall in the lake.

He has probably had few opportunities to enjoy rain. Anakin comes from a desert planet, and he has spent the last few years mostly on Coruscant, where rain is a scheduled event made dangerously acidic by the vast amounts of pollution the planet generates.

She shifts enough to see his face. It is hard to tell with the raindrops and the redness of his cheeks from the cold, but she thinks he might be crying. For once, she does not know what to say. She wonders what he is thinking. Perhaps his thoughts go back to his mother, or the lives lost on Geonosis, or the many losses this war will bring. She could cry for them too.

Anakin makes a choked noise. She kisses him beneath his ear, nuzzling his padawan braid out of the way.

“Come inside,” she whispers on his cold skin, and he follows.

_Present Day_

The next day is butter-yellow and mostly dry. They glide on the silken, though swollen, lake. Padmé accidentally pilots them too close to one of the waterfalls and icy droplets spray them. As they pull back into the dock Ahsoka sighs contentedly and says, “I think I could love it here.” Padmé’s chest aches; Anakin said much the same thing on his first visit to Varykino.

Ahsoka leaps onto solid ground and offers Padmé her hand. Padmé takes it and Ahsoka pulls her up. She smirks wickedly and Padmé is sure Ahsoka is imagining letting her fall back into the lake, so she takes advantage of Ahsoka’s readjusting balance and preemptively shoves the girl into the water. Ahsoka comes up, bobbing and spluttering indignantly. Padmé runs for higher ground before Ahsoka can pull her in with the Force.

Padmé and Ahsoka go back to the city the next day. The solitude of Varykino is lovely, but Padmé’s heart pulls her from her retreat to her childhood home. Her mother has promised a home-cooked meal. Sola and her family are making the shuttle flight from their house in the country to the capital. They’ve all expressed their excitement to meet Ahsoka.

“I don’t know,” Ahsoka says on their flight. “It seems so weird that you have a family. You’re so independent that it’s hard to picture you as belonging to someone else. Not that you belong to your family,” she hurriedly amends, “you’re your own person, just—ugh.” She waved her hands in frustration. “I mean it’s weird to think about where you come from. Does that make sense?”

“That makes sense,” Padmé says. “You were raised without a traditional family, so I think it’s normal that you find my upbringing strange.”

“So, who’s going to be at your parents’ house?”

“My parents, obviously. Jobal and Ruwee. My sister, Sola. Her husband, Darred, is coming. And their two daughters, Ryoo and Pooja. We’re average size for an upper-class Nubian family.”

“Seems kinda small compared to some other planets I’ve been to,” Ahsoka says.

“That’s because Nubian society is matriarchal. From the queen down, women are in charge. They’re expected to have careers before families, if they choose to have families at all.”

“Huh. That explains a lot.”

“I guess you didn’t study Nubian culture in much depth?” Padmé asks.

“No. As a senior initiate I chose Shili and Mandalore as my focus planets. Shili because I wanted to know more about my home planet, and Mandalore because we had to pick at least one planet with contentious relations with the Jedi. Kind of ironic in retrospect,” she muses. “I wasn’t far enough into my training for my thesis planet project.”

“What would you have picked?”

“I don’t know.” Ahsoka frowns. “Maybe Tatooine. But I don’t think Master Anakin would have liked that. He would have thought I was prying, and I guess I probably would have been. You have to spend time on-site, anyway.”

“No, I don’t think he would have liked that much.”

Ahsoka fidgets. Padmé waits for her to speak. “Do you know much about Tatooine?”

“I’ve been there twice,” Padmé says. “Both times were in high-pressure circumstances. I can’t say I ever got much feel for the day-to-day culture. We don’t talk about it much.”

“Do you think that’s bad? That he never talks about it?” Ahsoka looks straight ahead as she asks. She swings her leg while Padmé tries to answer.

She settles on saying, “I don’t want to push too hard. We come from very different backgrounds and it’s difficult to compare them.”

Ahsoka keeps swinging her leg. They both watch it disappear beneath her seat and reappear a moment later. “It’s an unpopular opinion for a Jedi, but I’ve always thought it was important to know where people come from before you can know who they are. It drove me crazy at first how little Master Anakin talked about his past. But it made me think: maybe their past isn’t always a person’s defining feature.”

“I don’t know,” Padmé says. “I’ve always thought it was more important to know what they want.”

“Well, I’m about to find out all about where you come from. I guess now is a good to see who’s right. But if we really want to test these theories, I’ll have to see how well I know you after knowing what you want, too.” Her teasing eyes turn serious. “What do you want, Padmé?”

 _I don’t know_ , Padmé thinks. _So many things._ “Chocolate,” she says, and grins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, folks! Two mugs of good news and one bowl of bad news, being served to your table.  
> Bad news first: we are almost to the end of my pre-written chapters. Which means soon I won't just need to tweak/add scenes here and there before posting, I'll actually have to create material. In light of this, the story will now be on a new posting schedule. I will post only twice a month--probably on Sundays--and spend the other weeks generating new story material rather than fine-tuning old stuff.  
> Good news to appease the angry mob at my door: I do not plan to abandon this story! I promise. It's just that I'm trying to get through college and that's a little higher on my priority list than writing fanfiction. New chapters will keep coming, just slower.  
> More good news because the mob is still muttering angrily: I have done a fair bit of outlining for the upcoming plot. I have so much good stuff in store for you all. If you're here for the feels, we have waaay more of that coming. If you want to see Padme kick butt in the Senate, that is also coming. If you want Jedi and former Jedi being awesome, that is coming. And if you're here for fluff, mild gore, or Obi and Ani failing at feelings (say that five times fast), all of the above are also coming soon to computers near you.
> 
> Thank you all for your continued interest in this WIP. Comment to complain, rant, suggest, request, squee, flail, etc.


	8. Anakin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: please note that this and future chapters may/will contain suicidal themes  
> I don't want to spoil the story but I do want you to be aware of this part of the story as it becomes more prominent. Some of you may have noticed it before now. I guess I should also say TW for implied/referenced/obvious abuse in reference to Anakin's past and Palpatine. Those will also become more relevant from here on out.

He glares at the tray of food in front of him. Obi-Wan sits in a chair across the room, obliviously tapping on a datapad. Anakin reaches for the spoon with a heavy arm. His gut churns. He chokes down a spoonful of porridge before Obi-Wan can notice his disgust.

This shouldn’t be a problem. For the past few months, Anakin has only had to eat when someone is looking. He has been the one in control. Now, everyone is watching. Kix will know if he doesn’t eat, which means Obi-Wan will know, which means the Council will know. And then Anakin will get pulled off the front lines.

They don’t understand. They keep saying he needs to take better care of himself, but Anakin is fine. He has the Force to keep him alert and strong. Stims and caf take care of any gaps. Obi-Wan told him that was unsafe. So did Kix. Actually, Kix mostly glared and muttered curses in Mando’a and delivered vague threats. He left the lecturing to Obi-Wan. None of them can see that he’s fine. He had everything under control before they interfered. They do not see that this is the only thing he can control.

They’re not going to let him help with the rest of the battle for Rinndio II. Obi-Wan has been officially discharged. He is going back to the moon today. Anakin is stuck here indefinitely. He had asked how long and Kix had said, “as long as it takes, sir.”

“As long as it takes for what?”

“For you to convince me you can take care of yourself when I release you.”

“That will be the day,” Obi-Wan had said sardonically.

At least once Obi-Wan is gone he can glare at his food all he wants before he eats it. Or maybe Kix will start watching him then. Anakin needs to get out of here as soon as possible. He can be a model patient for a day or two, and maybe that will be enough to convince Kix to release him. The medic has other patients to attend to and more are surely on the way. Besides, he can’t keep Anakin here forever.

Two days pass, and Anakin feels trapped. He is confined by scratchy bedsheets and expectations he is driven to meet. “When can I get out?” he asks for the hundredth time.

Kix sighs through his nose. It is a longsuffering sigh, the one he gives whenever someone tries to leave the medbay early. Anakin is not trying to escape early. He is very ready to leave. “Not yet. You’re still weak from malnutrition. This kind of thing takes time to build back up.”

“Kix,” he says and wrenches up a smile, “I promise I’ll be good if you let me out.”

“Nice try, sir. But I can’t do that.”

He loses the smile. “Fine.”

Kix walks to the door. “You should get some rest, General.” He dims the lights and leaves without answering the question.

Anakin pulls his knees up. He studies his arms, runs his hands along his legs. He feels the sharpness of his cheekbones and hips. He takes off his glove. In the near-darkness, the skeletal metal doesn’t glint the way it does at night in Padmé’s apartment. There, it reflects Coruscant’s lights. Here, the arm could almost be his. He gets up and slinks through the dark to the tiny ‘fresher, dragging the IV pole with him.

He flicks the lights on and watches his pupils adjust in the mirror. He is pale beneath the tan left by a hundred different suns. His collarbones poke out from his clothes. Aside from his long hair, he looks more like the gangly teenager he was six years ago than a general in the Galactic Army of the Republic. Things were simpler when he was a kid. He didn’t hold so many lives in his hands. Obi-Wan lectured him about his temper instead of keeping silent in the face of Anakin’s failures. He would go back, if it didn’t mean losing Padmé. Her choosing him once was miraculous enough. He wouldn't condemn her twice.

Anakin can’t go back. He can’t stay here, either. He tried. But now they’re forcing him to change. No one sees that he’s trying to be better. They don’t see that taking away his control will only make things worse. He needs this, and now everyone will be watching too closely for him to have it. It’s kind of funny that they think he’s being neglectful instead of intentional, but in so many other areas he fails, and they say it is not his fault. Ironic.

He flexes and clenches his hands in a rhythm. They are taking away the thing that makes him better. It is his choice not to eat. Slaves don’t make choices. Not eating means he is real. He has to be a real person because real people have control.

If Anakin loses control, it will only be the first thing to go.

He did not know he was capable of such hate. There have been times in the past when he was filled with it, where it burned until he poured it out. He had hurt people then. This is different. Then, he had used his hate on his enemies. Here, in a dark place that glows red, his saber blade clashes against two. They are white. He has never seen that before. It doesn’t matter, because the presence behind them is achingly familiar.

 _Skywalker’s apprentice,_ he thinks. He allows the betrayal to sear through him. He hates. He hurts. The Force burns. Or maybe that is him. To be Skywalker is to burn.

It hurts to breathe. It hurts to move. It hurts to _be._

She speaks. The words mean nothing. He strikes.

He wakes.

Vader’s—Anakin, his name is Anakin—scream lodges in his throat. The mask prevents it anyway. He doesn’t need a mask. _Why would I need that?_

He is covered in a cold sweat. It trickles down skin that can actually feel. His nerves shout so much he feels as if he is ripping apart. No, that’s because he’s tearing his skin to get out of his clothes. Too much _TOO MUCH._ He claws at the suit, tears off the helmet. He gets free of the trap—prison—and collapses onto the bed.

He curls on his side and shakes.

_AHSOKA. I’m sorry. What did I do? I’m so sorry. Why did I hurt you? I promised. I’m sorry. Ahsoka, I’m so kriffing sorry. I’ll do anything. I’m sorry._

His respirator hisses, catches, and gurgles. No, that’s just him, choking on sobs and wheezing breaths.

He breathes faster and faster. His head spins. It doesn’t matter. The monster who tried to murder Ahsoka is him. What else could be important?

The suit closes around him again. _No,_ he begs, but the mask falls, and everything is red. Red room. Red bed. Red skin. No, red on black leather where skin should be.

His lightsaber. If he cuts the suit off, maybe it won’t come back again. He cannot find it. It’s too long anyway. He dives for the boots at the end of his bed and pulls a knife from one of them. He slashes up one sleeve from the base of his thumb to his elbow and tries to rip on the fabric. It’s not working. The leather is too slick and it hurts so much but it needs to come off he needs it off he has to GET OUT.

He goes for the mask again instead because maybe if everything would just stop being red he could—Anakin would—he needs—he needs it off, but his hair is in the way. If he can just get it off maybe he won’t be the horror that hurt her.

 _AHSOKA!_ He remembers. He has to find her. She’s hurt, she needs help. He needs to find a ship. He has to get to her.

He runs through grey halls, past white soldiers. Anything is better than red. He still looks red. He always will. _Find a ship. Now._

“General?"

_Where is the hangar bay?_

“Where are—you—.”

_Something is in his way._

“Don’t—that.”

_I need to get through I have to find her._

“Wh—you can’t—ough.”

_I need a ship. A ship. She needs help. Ahsoka!_

“Not going—Stop!”

He shoves it away and runs.

_Anakin, wait!_

That’s him. He should stop but there isn’t time.

“Stop—im!”

 _No!_ He has to find his ship. He turns a corner and there’s the hangar bay.

Something heavy falls on him and it must be the building coming apart which is definitely not good. He’d lift it up and get in his ship—it’s right there, he can see it—and fly back to Ahsoka but he thinks he’s blacking out. He tries to keep ahold of his thoughts, of his urgent need to find Ahsoka, but it’s hard to stay conscious. He only needs to rest for a minute. He waits under the building while the voices pulse loudly in the Force.

“I—never been—errified in my life. He—arging out half-nak—babbling ab—e was sorry. Bleeding—the corridor.”

 _"_ Lucky he—a knife and not his lightsa—. —ould have been—rse.”

“Good—.”

He stops trying to listen. It’s nice here. He feels sort of . . . sloshy. Water laps in his ears and rocks him gently. It’s nice. He sinks.

After his nightmare he is watched even more closely. “I was sleepwalking,” he says whenever they ask. “You _know_ I do that sometimes,” he reminds Obi-Wan’s hologram.

The little blue Obi-Wan folds his arms. “Anakin, you have a history of sleepwalking, which means that sometimes you come into my room at night and say odd things. I’m convinced you steal my socks. Fleeing medbay during an acute panic attack and trying to navigate an active warzone in a starfighter—without so much as an astromech, I might note—and attempting to peel your own skin off—nearly bleeding out in the process, thank Force you didn’t hit your radial artery—is not normal sleepwalking behavior.”

“You’re exaggerating. Besides, it was a one-time thing,” he pleads. He stops himself from fingering the long strip of bacta running up his left forearm.

“You can’t know that,” Obi-Wan says. “So you’re going to stay in medical with restraints on at night until we’re sure you’re not going to try to kill yourself in your sleep. Again.” Anakin hates the look in his eyes.

Anger shoots through him. “Why don’t you ever listen to me?” he snarls.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says. Anakin hears the warning, the pity, the explanations.

“Save your excuses for someone who won’t see through them, _Master.”_ He puts everything he feels into the last word.

Little Obi-Wan covers his eyes with his hand. He looks back up and says, “Clearly you’re not in a fit state to have this conversation. However, you might consider that this behavior is not helping you prove your case.”

“You mean my blatant emotionalism makes me untrustworthy? You’re just like the Council,” Anakin spits.

“I’m on the Council.”

“You see? And I shouldn’t have to prove myself. You should just believe me.”

“How can I when we both know you’re lying?”

Anakin has no answer for that.

Obi-Wan sighs. “I’ll comm again later when you’re prepared to have a rational discussion.” He signs off before Anakin can give the sarcastic reply he has ready.

Anakin chucks the holoproj across the room. _Typical Obi-Wan. Always getting the last word._ It’s all he ever wants out of their arguments that never solve anything. In a fight with no winners, the one who lands the killing blow is the victor.

He has the nightmare again the next night. It’s a little sharper, more coherent, but otherwise the same. His dreams of his mom were like that, gradually building from disturbing dream to nightmare and then to—

Kix comes in because of his racing heart monitor. “Just a nightmare,” Anakin murmurs. Kix leaves him alone.

He’s not really supposed to be involved in command at the moment, but Obi-Wan keeps him updated on the fight for Rinndio II. “So you can see everything is under control and don’t get any ideas,” his master says. Rex comms, too, to tell him what Kenobi won’t. If Yularen knows that Anakin is getting reports in sickbay that should be reserved for the bridge, he makes no mention of it.

Kix definitely doesn’t know, because if he did he would put a stop to it immediately. “You need to rest, sir. I don’t want to see you so much as filling out reports.” Usually, he would protest. He would have someone—Ahsoka—sneak him a datapad or something to tinker with. Anything to fill the emptiness of waiting in a bed for the next thing to happen. More likely, he’d just discharge himself. Or get pulled back to the front lines by the next mission, the next enemy to conquer. Instead, the reports from Obi-Wan and Rex wash over him. The holograms wink out and he spends the long hours between them letting the ceiling blur above him. They don’t seem to notice that he isn’t listening.

He can’t get the dream out of his head. Every time he drifts off it grows clearer. The urgency of the first night is gone. The guilt, the hatred, are not. Disgust is hot and heavy on his chest. He doesn’t need the panic of the first vision because now he knows what caused Ahsoka to be in danger. He did. He did that. He was confused the first time. His worry for the danger hanging above his apprentice made him forget that he was the one who held his saber over her head. With his mind free of adrenaline, he sees clearly. He knows what he has to do to make sure she is never hurt again. To make sure he never hurts her again.

“Sir,” Kix says, approaching him with a sour face, “I’d prefer not to bother you, but the Jedi Council insists they speak with you. In private.”

Anakin sits up. Kix doesn’t move, just stands there looking at him with narrowed eyes. “Well? Are you going to let me up so I can speak to them?” he asks.

Kix jerks back into motion. The medic wordlessly unhooks him from the machines and tubes. He rolls his shoulder. After his arm got injured, Kix moved all the tugging lines to his collarbone. It feels odd without them now. Kix hands Anakin his robe. He wraps it around himself, covering the white hospital clothes.

“They’re set up in the closest communications bay. Come back when you’re done, sir. You’re not discharged yet.” He nods, and one of the orderlies falls in step behind Anakin, presumably to make sure he follows orders and returns.

The orderly takes a position outside the door while Anakin goes in.

“Skywalker.”

“Masters.”

“Unwell, you look.”

He shrugs. “Practically recovered. What can I do for you, masters?”

“We have a job for you. Off the records.”

“Of course,” he says. “Anything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was feeling upset, so I took a break from work to edit and post this very depressing chapter. Great plan, I know.  
> I was disappointed in the lack of response to the last chapter. I think part of that might have been due to the change in posting schedule. Thank you to the people who did comment last time!  
> I have a special surprise next chapter! Your hint is that a commenter suggested it to me. I will give credit where it's due next chapter.  
> Come flail over all the Anakin feels with me! This chapter gave me so many. Also, let me know how the panic attack sequence worked for you. Could you tell what was going on, but also feel Anakin's struggle to grasp reality? I also did more playing around than usual with an unreliable narrator in this chapter. What did you think?


	9. Ahsoka

Ahsoka wakes from a dream of darkness and fire, and she knows that it was not a dream. There was a voice, laughing, in the background. A dry, crackling laugh without joy. If evil has a sound, that was it.

She’s covered in sweat. The silken sheets of her bed in one of the guest rooms of the Naberrie’s house are soaked with it. She can’t move, though. The fear and anger, the searing pain of the vision keep her still. Footsteps sound in the hall.

“Ahsoka?” Padmé asks. She knocks softly and cracks the door open.

“Hey,” Ahsoka says. Her voice catches. She sits up.

“Are you alright?”

She draws her knees up, wraps her arms around them, and buries her face there for a moment. Her kneecaps press into her eyes. She breathes in and answers, muffled, “No, not really.”

“Can I come in?” Ahsoka nods and Padmé comes to sit on the edge of her bed. She puts a hand on the lump under the covers that is Ahsoka’s feet. “Bad dreams?”

“Not exactly.” Ahsoka doesn’t look at her. “It was more like a vision.”

Padmé strokes her foot. “Do you want to tell me about it?”

Ahsoka shrugs.

“Sometimes,” Padmé offers hesitantly, “Anakin gets Force dreams. They can be . . . pretty bad.”

“I know,” Ahsoka says. Padmé looks at her in mild surprise. “When we were in the field together, sometimes, when he was really tired, I would get bleed-through of his dreams through our bond. Neither of us has Force dreams often, but I’ve seen some things of his through the years. He’s seen some of my dreams too, I’m sure. My shields weren’t fantastic when I first became his Padawan. Actually, that’s one of the first things he really worked with me on once we had the time, so I bet he was getting a lot of feedback through the bond,” she admits, but holds back on the rest a moment. _Might as well tell her._ “I’m not sure what the vision was about. It was just . . . whatever it was, it was bad. And soon. Whatever it was, it could happen soon.” She shivers involuntarily.

Padmé moves her hand from Ahsoka’s foot to her shoulders. Ahsoka leans into her. Padmé smells like flowers and the blue robe thrown over her nightgown is softer than a tooka kitten. Her breaths hum through Ahsoka’s montrals.

“Remember that time you saved my life because you listened to your visions?” Padmé says. Ahsoka nods. “I may not know everything about the Force, but I know it sent you those visions for a reason. I’m sure there’s a reason for this one, too. Keep listening, you’ll find what you need to do to make sure this one doesn’t come true, either. And if you need my help, I’m here.” She squeezes Ahsoka’s shoulders.

“Thanks.” The vision didn’t make her want to cry. Padmé’s kindness does. She soaks in the moment until she’s strong enough to stretch and let Padmé’s arm drop from her back. “Sorry to keep you up.”

“That’s alright,” Padmé says. She scoots back to give Ahsoka space. “I was already awake when I heard you moving around.”

“Oh.” _That’s a nice way of putting it._ “What were you doing up? It’s pretty late.”

“I was getting a little paperwork done. There’s always something that needs doing, with the war on.”

“You know you’re supposed to be on vacation, right?” Ahsoka asks.

“I can’t help it!” Padmé bursts out in self-defense. She colors and lowers her voice again to say, “there wasn’t any time to take care of it before. And I try to be as present as I can during the day. I hardly get to see my family, so I hate to spend what little time I have with them thinking about other things.”

“Am I intruding on your time with them?”

“Not at all,” Padmé says. She smiles kindly. “We all love having you here. My parents both adore you, and my nieces think you hung the moon in the sky.”

Ahsoka smiles. “It’s not hard to impress them.” She thinks of the little Force tricks she performed for them earlier. Levitating balls was not an exciting feat in the Temple, but here on Naboo Ryoo and Pooja were awed. They had clapped and screamed and begged her to do it again.

Padmé sighs sadly. “It will be hard to leave. It always is.”

“Is it hard when Anakin leaves?” Padmé’s mouth twists. “Sorry, dumb question,” Ahsoka says. They sit quietly for a moment.

“It’s always hard to be separated, but the worst part is not knowing if he’ll come back.”

She feels something in the Force: a wave of grief, old and tired. It hits with the fresh sting of a Mandalorian orange. Master Obi-Wan badgered her into tasting one out of his salad once at Dex’s. Ahsoka thinks of being left behind.

“I don’t want you to be alone like that,” she tells Padmé. _I don’t think I want to be alone again either._

“That’s sweet of you, Ahsoka. But I’m a big girl, I can handle it.”

 _But you shouldn’t have to_ , Ahsoka thinks. Padmé looks down into her eyes and gives Ahsoka a sad smile. Ahsoka looks back at Padmé’s face. It is lit by the moonlight. _It’s no wonder she was a queen._

Padmé gives her one last squeeze before getting up and sliding off the bed. “Try to get some sleep,” she says. “Things’ll be better in the morning. They always are, you’ll see.”

“Goodnight,” Ahsoka says. _Thank you_.

Their last day on Naboo is spent with Padmé’s family. Her nieces are abhorred to learn that Ashoka has never been to a zoo before, so naturally the little girls have to take her.

“You gotta,” Ryoo says with big eyes. Pooja nods solemnly.

Padmé’s mother, Jobal, pats her hand. “You really must, dear.”

“And what Jobal we must do, we do,” Ruwee says cheerfully.

The Royal Interplanetary Menagerie of Theed is old and beautiful, like the rest of the city. Ahsoka moves between the girls and the adults as the group travels around looking at the different creatures.

Pooja and Ryoo giggle and run too far ahead looking at the Kowakian monkey-lizards. They scramble back pleading for ice cream. Ahsoka leans over to Padmé and says, “Civilian kids are weird.”

Padmé laughs. “Might I remind you that you are also a civilian kid?”

“Only technically,” she grumbles.

“Quit griping,” Padmé teases, “and take the girls to see the reeks. Ever since Geonosis, I don’t really care for them. But the girls want to go.”

 _This trip has been nice,_ Ahsoka thinks, one eye on the huge creatures munching peacefully and the other on the children, _but I’ll be glad to get a break from all the heart-to-hearts with Padmé recently. She’s been almost . . . mom-ish. Ventress is a lot less mushy._ She is surprised to find that she misses her roommate.

_Seven Months Earlier_

Ahsoka knocks on Ventress’ door with the intent to apologize. When she refused the offer to rejoin the Order, she had not been thinking of the consequences for the Zabrak. But without her place in the order, Ahsoka will never be able to clear Ventress’ name.

Ahsoka opens her mouth, but Ventress cuts her off. “I don’t need to hear it. It was all over the news. Congratulations, you’re a free woman.”

“And you’re not,” Ahsoka says.

Ventress shrugs. “I’m no worse off than I was last week, except that my lightsabers are gone.”

“Sorry.”

They stare at each other in an uneasy silence. Ventress leans against the doorway with her hip cocked out. “What do you plan to do now?”

Ahsoka crosses her arms. “I don’t know. I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry I couldn’t keep our deal. Is there something else I can do for you instead?”

Ventress’ face remains neutral, but Ahsoka watches as her eyes flicker between calculating and considering. The Dathomiri woman steps back inside and jerks her head for Ahsoka to follow. She glances around. The street is empty. Ahsoka goes inside.

“Close the door and sit down,” Ventress orders.

Ahsoka shuts the door behind herself, but neither of them sits down in the cheap-looking chairs tucked into the scuffed table. The place is spartan, but neat and clean.

“You don’t have anywhere to stay, do you?” Ventress says bluntly.

Ahsoka wants to lie, but there’s no point. “Guess not.”

“You might not be a Jedi any longer,” Ahsoka tries not to flinch at that, “but now that you’re redeemed your word is still worth something. Maybe not enough to redeem me in the eyes of the law, but enough to keep me on its kinder side. There’s an empty bedroom down the hall. You’ll have to fix the roof leak in there and find some furniture, but it’s yours if you want it. I’m leaving for a job tonight. When I get back I expect the fridge to be stocked, which means you’ll have to get a job. I’ll expect you to split the rent with me. Any questions?”

“Um,” Ahsoka flounders. This is not what she was expecting. At all.

“And I want my lightsabers back. I’m sure the Jedi confiscated them when they took Offee into custody. Preferably soon. Blasters will do for this job, but I don’t want to go to the trouble of getting the parts for new sabers on the black market. I suggest you collect anything that’s yours from the Temple at the same time.”

“Jedi don’t have possessions,” Ahsoka recites dazedly.

“No?” Ventress asks with a mocking edge.

“No,” Ahsoka says more firmly, thinking of her room in the Temple, a bed that belongs to no one, datasticks with old school projects. She resolutely pushes away the images of “Qui-Gon’s Plants” lined up beneath a window and carefully tended, a box on a shelf that sang in the Force of Master Kenobi and Anakin instructing, “seriously, don’t touch that thing.” She tries to force out the picture of a room full of racing posters and model ships, and an oddly beautiful piece of twisted glass and metal that Anakin had rescued from a scrap pile—he was forever getting distracted on missions and digging through junk heaps—but one thought of her master begets another.

_“Look at this power cell, perfectly functional!”_

_"I can’t believe it! These things are so rare!”_

_"Do you know what we can do with this, Ahsoka?”_

Not long after she lost her lightsaber and got it back with Master Sinube’s help, Master Skywalker had taken her into the city on “patrol,” which turned into her standing guard and watching for _“suspicious activity. You know, anything weird”_ while Anakin sorted through heaps of scrap parts. She ended up helping him, because standing around pretending not to notice the other scavengers creeping through the industrial district was boring. She glimpsed something sparkly and pulled it out. Or she tried to, but she dropped it when it cut her hand. “Ouch!”

His hand shot out to grab her find before it could fall back into the pile. He set it down gently and looked back at her. “Ahsoka, are you okay?”

“Yeah, fine. Just a little cut.”

“Doesn’t look very little. Here,” he swabbed it with an antibacterial wipe and wrapped it in gauze from his belt. “I should have brought some gloves for you. Don’t really need to worry about that for myself.” He grimaced apologetically.

“It’s fine,” she said.

“Let’s see what caused all the trouble,” he said, carefully picking the little ball up again in his gloved hand. The sparkle came from little pieces of glass, warped by heat to meld with shards of metal. One particularly sharp piece was colored with Ahsoka’s blood. “Huh,” he said, prodding the thing. “I wonder where this came from.”

“It’s kind of pretty,” she said. “Aside from the fact that it tried to kill me.”

Anakin chuckled. “Come on, let’s go back to the Temple and get your hand fixed up properly.” He slipped it into the satchel of salvaged parts.

Two days later, he gave it to her. The edges were still sharp, but the metal was now stamped with strange symbols. “This is for you. For good luck.”

Luck with what, he didn’t say. She kept it nearby anyway: in a drawer on the _Resolute_ , in her room at the Temple.

It’s still sitting atop her clothes chest.

She bites her lip and shakes herself out of the memories. “I’ll ask for your lightsabers back,” she promises.

“And are you going to stay?” Ventress asks.

“Yeah, I’ll stay. Got nowhere else to be.”

And at first, that’s true because there’s no other place for her to be. But she finds a job, pulls a three-legged bedframe out of a dumpster, and fixes the roof leak—several times. She goes back to the Temple after the holonews runs a story on Skywalker’s victories on some distant planet and asks Master Yoda for Ventress’ lightsabers. He lets her take them. “Miss you, we do,” he says. He doesn’t apologize or explain, and neither does she. He hobbles away with his big ears drooping.

She hadn’t expected to come back here again. Now that she is, Ahsoka takes the opportunity to say goodbye to her home. She walks by the doors of classrooms, training salles, the Room of a Thousand Fountains. Memories of laughs and fights and tears and hands of pride and comfort resting on her shoulders. She passes Barriss’ room on the way to her own, walking quickly. The door denies her access to her room. She asks the computer why and it says “occupied” in a crisp voice. She wonders how quickly her things were disposed of and some new padawan was moved in.

The door to her masters’ shared quarters opens for her. It looks much the same as the last time she was here. She breathes in the loneliness of the room, empty but for her and the echoes in the Force. On the shelf so high up on the wall that it is not meant for reaching, next to Obi-Wan’s box, so far above her head she can barely see it, is her lucky metal ball. It might be the only thing besides her lightsabers that has ever really been her own. She does not take it. She does not go further into the room. She leaves with only Ventress’ lightsabers on her belt. After all, the things on that shelf are meant to be forgotten.

When Ahsoka gets back, Ventress only says, “Ah, thank you, darling.” She takes her sabers back and coos, “I’ve missed you, my sweets.” She tucks them away and says to Ahsoka, “Come along. Let’s put something stupid in the holoscreen.”

_Present Day_

Ahsoka is pulled from thoughts of Asajj when Pooja trips and skins her knee. It is only a small scrape, and the girl’s tears subside quickly, especially when the ice cream is presented. The vendor insists Padmé take hers for free.

“Meesa insistin’, Senator. It’sa bein’ the leasten meesa can doin’.”

On Coruscant, the planet is so crawling with senators and representatives from all over the galaxy that no one really cares who they are, except that they’re likely to spend lavishly. Here, everyone smiles at Padmé. Some sentients stop to offer her thanks. Padmé accepts the attention with warm eyes and a big smile. Every time someone comes up to them, Padmé’s family exchanges knowing smiles behind her back.

They make a final stop at the Umgullian blobs because Padmé’s sister— _call me Sola_ —insists they’re a vital part of the zoo experience.

She’s kind of right. The blobs are some of the weirdest creatures Ahsoka has ever seen. They are just these grayish-green, stripey, gelatinous, well, _blobs_. As they watch, the creatures split themselves in half and merge together again. Instead of going around the obstacles in their path, the blobs let the objects go through _them_. Ahsoka has seen them a few times on the holonet, of course—Skyguy likes watching them, though not as much as he likes podracing—but seeing them in person is entirely different.

She mentions this to Padmé. “He actually became interested in blob racing after he saw them here,” she says. Ahsoka wonders when they had time to go to the zoo together.

By the end of the outing, Pooja is complaining of sore feet. Ahsoka lets the little girl ride on her back as they return to the speeder. Ryoo trails at her side, still chattering happily.

It’s a good day. Ahsoka even forgot, for a little while, about the vision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! I have been so swamped. Idek how late this is. Hopefully you all remember where we left off.  
> I had a lot of fun writing this chapter, but it was also heavy on research and obscure questions (like what are the ethical ramifications of keeping a Kowakian monkey-lizard in a zoo?). A few notes for those who are interested in the research/factual side of things (I don't know who you are but I'm sure you exist, shout out to all my nerds!):  
> The salad is a real thing. I don't know if Obi-Wan eats it, but he seems like more of a health-nut than Anakin or Ahsoka, who doesn't even need vegetables.  
> Umgullian blobs are still a thing. Seriously, go look them up.  
> I did my best to keep this accurate to canon, but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯. I have headcanons and also no time to rewatch the entire TCW series, however much I would like to.
> 
> Credit to writergirl3005 for her comment on Chapter 4 asking for how they became roommates. Ask me for stuff/give me ideas and they might get worked in!  
> As always, I would love to hear your thoughts. Come get weirdly gleeful over Umgullian blobs with me.


	10. Padmé

They leave Naboo too soon, and not soon enough. She loves her family and misses them fiercely whenever she is away, but her work is so important. Padmé is no longer a queen, but her duty to the people still comes first. She and Ahsoka are sent back to Coruscant stuffed with home cooking and glowing from the clear air and gentle sun.

“I’m so glad you could come,” she says to Ahsoka.

“Thanks for inviting me. I’d never been on vacation before.”

It is not just the things Ahsoka says about her childhood, it’s the way she says them—so blithely pointing out all the ways her upbringing lacked the joy and laughter Padmé knows from her own girlhood—that makes Padmé ache. It is the duty of crechemasters to guide younglings in their earliest explorations of the Force; they are not charged with showing children that they are loved.

“We should do it again sometime,” Padmé says, wondering when that sometime will be.

“Definitely.” Ahsoka grins, hitches her bag up on her shoulder. She wraps her arms around Padmé for a moment, and then she is gone.

Padmé leaves her bags to be collected by Rabé and goes straight to the Senate building. Nothing relevant is in session today—or at least, nothing Jar Jar can’t handle—but she needs to get her business in order as soon as possible. The refugee bill is days away from presentation, and the opposition is still raging.

“Senator Amidala! Padmé!”

She halts her eager walk through the halls and turns to see a hand raised above the crowd.

“Bail, just the person I wanted to see,” she says a he comes puffing up beside her, muttering apologies as he bumps into various persons. Her smile drops when she notices his stony face. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s about the punch for the luncheon this afternoon.” He smiles tightly to cover a grimace.

“Can you not find the fruit? I might know a seller. Come to my office and we can discuss.”

An aide with an armful of pads pushes past them.

“Better make it my office, you’re out of tea if I recall correctly.”

“Silly me,” she says. “I’ll get that taken care of straight away.” She takes his proffered arm. They make idle chit-chat all the way to his office, smiling and laughing. Animated faces cover quick gaits.

They keep it up past the doors of the Alderaani senator’s reception room. Bail ushers her into his inner office. “Senator Mothma!” Padmé exclaims brightly. “I didn’t know you were helping with the luncheon today.” Bail shuts the door behind himself with a click of turning locks. Padmé’s smile drops. “What happened?” she demands.

Bail gestures to the chairs around his desk. He and Padmé sit, but Mon remains standing by the window. He folds his hands on the desk and leans forward. “The Chancellor is calling for greater emergency powers. And it’s to be voted on urgently this afternoon.”

Padmé frowns. “What brought this on? And why wasn’t I notified?”

Bail shifts and looks away. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but Generals Kenobi and Skywalker have both gone missing. General Skywalker is reported to have been seriously injured at the time of his disappearance.”

“What?” she chokes.

“I don’t know how it got out, but the story has been confirmed. It’s all over the Senate, but they’re trying to keep it hush-hush. Of course, it’s only a matter of time before the press and the people get wind of it. That’s why the vote’s been called so quietly and quickly.”

“And the Chancellor?”

Mon steps closer. “He’s going to attempt to utilize the panic of the senators to gain more emergency powers. For the sake of the people, we have to stop him. We can’t continue to stand by as he uses every crisis of this war to snatch up every bit of power in the Senate.” She comes forward to place a hand on the arm of Padmé’s chair. “Padmé, I realize that these men are your friends. We’re not asking you to forget about them. But we’re senators, not soldiers. The Jedi can look after their own, but this has gone on long enough. We have to stop the Chancellor. Not just in this vote. His power needs to be put in check. We want to create a petition for the Chancellor’s emergency powers to be reduced.”

“He was a mentor to me once. He’s supported me professionally and personally for years. I can’t believe it’s come to this.”

“I know,” Mon says.

Padmé looks at her friends, solemn and determined. She bites her lip. So many things are wrong with this situation. Mon and Bail are right, though. “What’s the plan?”

“In the short term: gather support to shut down this vote. In the long run,” Bail scrutinizes her, “we think you should lead the charge to deescalate the Chancellor’s powers. You’ll have our support, but you’re the best figurehead. We represent our constituents, but you’re seen as a voice for the downtrodden all over the galaxy.”

“Bail . . .” she says. She would be flattered in other circumstances.

“We can’t wait any longer for him to give up power ‘when the war is over.’ With every bit of power he gains, it seems like it becomes less clear when that will be. He has too much sway, even for a state of emergency.”

“I agree,” she says. _I’m glad someone else finally said it out loud, even if I wish it wasn’t true._ “But we have a problem. In times like these, this kind of political action could easily be seen as sedition. We’ll be labeled Separatists. We’ve got to start careful and slow. We’ll have to be very cautious in who we trust. And we’ll need solid evidence before we level the slightest accusation of misconduct. The Chancellor might hold too much power, but we need to be able to show that tangibly and incontrovertibly. I know other senators would be willing to sign a petition, but they’ll want physical proof to protect themselves from accusations of sedition or treason.”

“Agreed. I’d like that myself.”

“I don’t wish to cut this short, but we need to refocus on the emergency vote. We’ll each gather support individually, but we should contact one of the others if we need additional persuasion,” Mon says.

“Shall we meet at my apartment tonight to discuss precautions further?” Padmé suggests.

“Yes, sounds perfect,” Bail says. Senator Mothma nods.

It is nearing midnight by the time Padmé trudges into her apartment. Today was not the day she expected. She never even made it into her office, let alone prepared herself for the next day’s work. She went from senator to senator, cashing in as many favors as she dared. She and Bail hosted an emergency luncheon to tag-team some of their tougher fellows—as well as give substance to their coded conversation. In the end, the new powers do not pass, with the guarantee that—as usual—the Generals will soon find their way out of trouble. Padmé wishes to be so easily assured.

She wants to curl up on the couch, maybe jump in a ship and drag her idiots out of their latest mess, but instead she sweeps her apartment for bugs. Twice. Then she makes Threepio run a scan. It’s a feature Anakin put in the droid for her, nominally to protect the two of them from discovery, but she also uses it for times such as this.

“Nothing, my lady.”

“Good,” she says. “Will you go and get the door?”

Threepio obligingly shuffles towards the door, muttering, “Guests at this hour? Goodness, it’s not proper to call so late. Don’t these senator-types ever sleep?”

Mon arrives first. She and Padmé wait in silence for Bail, too exhausted to make idle conversation. He enters shortly. Like the women, Bail is still dressed in his clothes from the day, though Padmé has set aside her headdress.

“It’s safe to talk,” Padmé says when they are all seated on the couches.

“Good,” Bail says. “Let’s get started, then. I’ve come up with a few suggestions for basic rules we should set, but either of you are free to add to it.”

“Go ahead,” Padmé invites.

Bail nods. “First, we need to be very careful, especially initially, with who we trust. I think we should only confide our plans in individuals that all three of us agree can be trusted. Once we have more evidence and traction in the Senate, we’ll be safer from accusations of separatism, and we can be more open in general. Until then, we can’t tell anyone who doesn’t need to know, including the people closest to us.” He makes eye contact with them both. Padmé’s stomach twists, remembering that even if she could tell Anakin, he’s missing, and he wasn’t talking to her before that.

“Second, no discussing this outside of designated safe locations. Each of us is capable of ensuring our residences are free of recording devices. I think we should limit any talk of our plans to these three places, and only when the person in residence clearly indicates the area has been swept. Does that sound reasonable?”

“Yes,” they agree. Mon asks, “Anything else?”

“Yes, but I don’t think you’re going to like it.”

“Oh?”

“We can’t leave a paper trail,” Bail says seriously. “In order to protect ourselves, we can’t write down or record anything we discuss in the course of our meetings. We’re trying to uncover evidence, not create it.”

“I disagree,” Mon says. “There may be long lists of names of Senators we think might be sympathetic or data files with incriminating evidence. It will be necessary to keep records in order to modify or prove our information.”

“But we don’t have any way to safeguard that information,” Bail says.

“We might,” Padmé says. “I know some people with expertise in encryption and data security. They taught me a thing or two, and I have several advanced encryption keys in my possession. I can also bring in one of my contacts in the Naboo Secret Service. One of my former handmaids works with them now, and I would trust her with anything. She could help us to establish a secure information network, with information dead drops and the like.”

“And all these methods are highly secure?” Bail asks.

“I have every confidence in them.”

“Very well, then,” Bail says.

“I think we can all agree that this handmaid should be brought in. She’ll be given the necessary facts to help us establish secure communication lines, but no more. Agreed?” Mon asks.

Both nod. “I’ll be delicate,” Padmé assures them.

“Anything else we should discuss?” Bail asks.

“I think we should adjourn for now,” Mon says.

“Wait,” Padmé says. “If we’re going to bring a petition before the Chancellor, we’ll need the support of the Jedi.”

“We don’t know where the Jedi stand on this issue,” Mon says.

“But they have most of the military control,” Bail points out. “If we want the Chancellor to pursue other ends to the war, we need them behind us. They don’t gain anything from the war continuing.”

 _Except for destroying the Sith,_ Padmé thinks. “I doubt they’ll agree to negotiate while Count Dooku is still in the picture. But they’re as tired of the fighting as we are.”

“Who among them would you have us trust?” Mon asks. She is not unkind, only wary.

Padmé thinks of Anakin: increasingly agitated and unstable, her beloved husband. She thinks of Obi-Wan: emotionally distant, embroiled in the machinations of the Council. Both are reported missing. She sighs. “At this time, I don’t know. Nonetheless, I think their eventual support is vital to our success.”

“Perhaps we should save this discussion for a later time,” Bail suggests. He looks at his chrono. “Or an earlier one. Little gods, it’s late.”

All three try to stifle their yawns.

“Let’s resume tomorrow night. My apartments,” Mon says.

“I think there are going to be many more late nights in our future,” Padmé remarks as she sees them out.

Bail chuckles. “No doubt.”

When she is alone, Padmé goes straight to her room. She does not remember if she ate dinner, but at this point she is too tired to care. She strips out of her gown, pulls the pins from her hair but leaves the braids to be mussed as they will, and curls under the sheets in her undergarments.

And finally, _finally_ , she is free to panic.

Anakin and Obi-Wan are missing. The Senate is in shambles. Anakin is missing. Ahsoka had an ominous vision. Anakin and Obi-Wan are missing. The Jedi refuse to comment. Why? What does that mean for her Jedi? Where are they now? Why do Bail and Mon want her to be the face of this petition? What will her face on a metaphorical poster accomplish? Are they captured? Injured and alone somewhere? Tortured? It wouldn’t be the first time, but she hopes to the mother goddess that it isn’t so. She doesn’t want to know when it will all be too much. She wants to get in her ship right now and track them down, but she doesn’t even know where they were before they disappeared. Is this some kind of sick joke? It wouldn’t be the first time the Council has played with the emotions of people close to her Jedi. She would have hoped they’d learned something from the previous occasions, but no. Is that why the Council won’t comment? Or maybe they’re dead. The Council knows it and they don’t want to cause a mass panic. Maybe she’s never going to see them again.

“Stop,” she says aloud. “Don’t do this to yourself, Padmé. They’ll find their way out of trouble, like they always do. Anakin and Obi-Wan are fine. You’ll see. Get some sleep. They’re fine.” She mumbles her way into silence, but she doesn’t sleep until the noise of the traffic outside starts to grow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helloooo everybody! I'm super excited to bring you the latest chapter. Things are heating up, and we finally get to see Padme kick some butt in the Senate with Bail and Mon. I did my best to write politics, but it's not my forte. As ya'll can probably guess, I'm more into the emotionally gooey scenes than the action or political intrigue. I love reading it, but I don't know how I did writing it.  
> Also, Anakin and Obi-Wan are missing. Aaahhh! Tune in next chapter to get some answers (but not all, because I'm evil and also there was no logical way to explain everything within the plot of the next chapter. Obi-Wan isn't a POV character, which makes my life both easier and harder).  
> Just FYI, there is no way you would have gotten a chapter today if it wasn't spring break. My life is crazy, but this break has been a much-needed asylum. I wanted to get a lot more writing done than I have so far, but we will see how that goes. My plans and mojo are strong, so more updates should be coming your way.
> 
> COMMENTS ARE LIFE. If this update made your day, make mine by letting me know what you thought. :)  
> Final note: a huge thank-you to everybody who continues to read, give kudos, bookmark, and comment on my work. You're all lovely and your support continually awes me.


	11. Anakin

Anakin sits in the cockpit of _Twilight_ and picks at the bandage on his arm for two days. He stays in his chair while the ship hurtles through hyperspace. Artoo pokes him a few times a day, asking him to sleep in an actual bed—he doesn’t—and eat something—he does, a little. If it comes back up, Artoo has nothing to complain about because Anakin tried.

He takes the supplements Kix forced him to pack. There is a little monitor clamped to his skin, telling the medic if Anakin is caring for himself. He threatened to have Anakin put on medical leave if he didn’t take the supplements, but Anakin is honestly not sure if that’s something Kix can really do. Technically, he was on medical leave when the Council sent him on this mission. Mostly, he takes the supplements because Artoo threatens to shock him if he does not.

He’s had enough electrocution for a lifetime. He takes them again when Artoo makes him—again. He doesn’t get any angry messages from Kix, so it must be enough.

However, Anakin does receive a very irritated message from Obi-Wan.

“The Council just . . . sent you off. I can’t believe it. You’re supposed to be in medical and they didn’t even—I don’t understand! And you: why choose now of all times to start doing what they tell you? Why wasn’t I consulted on this? Why didn’t _you_ say something?”

He shuts the recording off before it finishes. An hour later, he docks on Kuat.

It is a difficult process. The planet’s defenses are considerable, and he doesn’t want anyone alerted to his presence. General Skywalker would be welcomed warmly by one of the Republic’s primary shipyards, but officially he is MIA. He hopes Padmé will not worry too much when she hears, knowing she will.

A scruffy-looking pilot going by Arden Fellingg docks in Bay 9 with a cargo of astromech parts. If anyone asks, he is here to meet the buyer: a refined older gentleman, very fastidious.

“Stay with the ship, Artoo,” Anakin says.

 _"Fry your circuits, I’m coming,”_ Artoo says.

"Anakin puts a hand out to stop him from rolling farther. “Listen, I need to scope this out and find a place to stay.”

_“Your motherboard has a hole in it if you think unit R2-D2 is going to let you go on your own. You’re not exactly fresh off the production line right now.”_

“Artoo,” he says with gritted teeth, “this is a covert mission. If someone recognizes us because you’re with me, we’ll have no chance of catching Dooku. I have to find out what he’s doing here and stop it.”

_“Fine, but if you don’t check in every two hours, I’m coming after you, you fried unit.”_

“Eight hours,” he argues.

_“Four.”_

“Seven.”

_“Affirmative.”_

“How generous,” Anakin snarls. Artoo makes a rude noise that requires no translation. Anakin ignores him and slips off the ship.

He leans into the Force, looking for a direction to start in, and he does not notice the dizziness until he feels it recede. Anakin closes his eyes and pulls the threads of pulsing life surrounding him into a cloak.

He finds himself scoping out a nightclub. It is not the kind of dive he normally finds himself tracking criminals through or going with Obi-Wan or the boys to relax. It’s more the kind of joint that Obi-Wan would go to if he thought Anakin had enough class for the bouncer to let in the both of them. Whoever Dooku is meeting here, he is aiming to impress.

The sign in flashing white and red says _Supernova._ Anakin examines his appearance from his position down the street from the club. Speeders roar over his head. He’s not dressed for this joint. If he walks in there he’ll stick out like a krayt in a field of banthas. The beings walking through those shiny silver doors have slicked-back hair, fitted suits and floor-length dresses, dazzling smiles, and full cheeks. Polish. On top of that, the patrons are almost exclusively human, which is never an encouraging sign.

He looks at himself in the darkened window of a shop. His opaque and wavering form is not enough to block the jewels behind the glass, but he can still see the sallowness of his skin and the limp stoop of his shoulders. The Jedi’s credit chip can buy him a suit, makeup, hair product, access. It can’t make him like the people inside that club. Anakin has never been very good at faking it, but right now he does not even have the strength to try. If the Council wants someone to track Dooku to places like this, why choose him?

They sent Anakin though, to find out what Dooku is doing on the home planet of one of the Republic Navy’s primary shipyards and stop him. If he can, he is to neutralize the Count—by whatever means are necessary. Maybe he can end the war right here. If he could, well, it would be good to be done fighting. And if he could just make sure everyone is _safe,_ he wouldn’t have to worry about what will happen to them when he is gone.

The thought of finishing this is enough to convince Anakin to give his plan a try. Dooku will surely be carrying protection against spyware, so in-person is the only way for Anakin to learn anything. The Force whispers to him that the Count will be here for a while, so he leaves his post to find what he needs.

He returns to the _Supernova_ dressed to the nines. Makeup covers his scar and changes the shape of his face—a trick he learned from Padmé and the handmaidens. His hair is styled to shield one side of his face and dyed a darker shade. He has switched out his usual leather gloves for an elegant synth-silk pair.

If none of that is enough to stop Dooku from recognizing him, hopefully the laughing orange Twi’lek on his arm will. Her name is Gida Me and he is paid her two hundred credits cash to pretend to be his date without asking any questions. He also told her to keep the dress he let her pick out, a black, strappy getup that would allow her to blend in with the other women—at least clothing-wise. A Twi’lek was the least likely alien species to stand out in a crowd of humans. Anakin chose her from among the many weary faces in Kuat’s underbelly because she looked hungry, though the little girl peeking around her legs had seemed less so. He told Gida he wanted to keep an eye on a former business partner with whom his dealings had gone south.

She’d been cautious at first. “You’re just there to make me less recognizable,” he’d promised. “I won’t try anything. I don't even need you to kiss me unless it’s an emergency.”

“Deal,” she had agreed. She had sent the little girl running up the steps with the credits to an older woman watching from the window.

Gida warms to her role much more quickly than Anakin while they wait in line to enter the club. As the bouncer lets them past, she is smiling and chatting while he manages a placid grin.

Once they are inside, he twirls her around to the music and scans the room as they spin. He can still feel the oily heat of Dooku’s presence sliding through the room, but Anakin does not see him. He pulls Gida to the bar and orders them each a shot to make their presence here look natural. He smirks and jerks his head towards the dance floor. She follows him deeper into the room.

She stretches up on her toes to say in his ear, “Arden, I can’t dance like this.”

Anakin looks around. The couples on the floor have their arms on shoulders and waists, spinning in and out on flying feet. “That’s alright,” he says, turning his face in close to hers as if sharing a lovers’ joke. “We just need to dance long enough for me to find my man, and then we can sit down. Follow my lead and you’ll be fine.” Thank Force he was compelled to learn all kinds of formal dances as a padawan, otherwise this could get sticky.

“Okay,” she says.

They step out and dance. It is not as difficult as Gida might have feared. The style of dancing is easy enough to imitate, and there is no set pattern of steps that all of the pairs around them are following. He mostly spins her in and out and moves them in a circle around the room.

He spots Dooku in a corner booth, sitting across from a human with his hood pulled low. Dooku has taken similar precautions to conceal his identity, but he is not hard to find in the Force.

Anakin pulls Gida in closer. “Let’s get a booth over there,” he says, nodding to an empty table a few down from Dooku. “Come on this side of me and talk about something.”

When they are seated, Anakin orders a round of drinks from the holoscreen on the table. Gida curls into his side just enough to shield his face from the room.

“So, you’re a model?” he says, telling her with his eyes to go with it. “Tell me what that’s like.”

Gida blinks once and launches into a description of her supposed job—he had told her he would need her to chatter about her cover story. Anakin pretends to give her his attention while he focuses his senses on Dooku. He diverts his use of the Force from making himself unnoticed to enhancing his hearing.

“So I have your guarantee that you will get the job done?” Dooku is asking.

“Of course,” the stranger in the hood purrs. “But a job such as this won’t be easy. Such a massive undertaking will of course require much maneuvering to pass inspection unnoticed.”

 _Blast,_ Anakin thinks. If they are discussing payment, he has probably missed the details of the plan. There is still a chance that one of them will let something slip though, so he refocuses.

“I told you already, you’ll receive a handsome reward of ten thousand credits to be split between you and your man. Divide it as you see fit.”

“That’s just it. I’m not sure my man can be bought so easily,” the man says.

“I could always kill you and find someone else to do it,” Dooku says. “Surely corrupt inspection officials aren’t so difficult to come by. Consider yourself lucky I’m offering to pay you at all.”

Anakin has his back to them, but he can almost see the man gulp.

“Ten thousand credits _is_ generous of you.”

“I thought so,” Dooku says.

A droid arrives with their drinks. Anakin barely notices enough to smile and say thank you as Gida passes his over. He sips enough to feign interest, still absorbed in Dooku’s conversation.

“Now, the ships ought to be ready in two standard rotations. I expect to hear everything is ready for me one. If your man backs out I want you to tell me and I’ll take care of it, but I expect you to find a replacement.”

“Understood.”

A twitch in the Force warns him that they are leaving. Anakin twines his fingers with Gida’s and presses their foreheads together as the Count’s gaze pierces the room. She stares at him from under her lashes. He closes his eyes.

As the hot darkness of the room fades, he nudges her with his leg. As they walk out of the club, Anakin makes a quick decision. Count Dooku he can track again later, but the other man he has no name or even face to find. He will follow the mystery man—presumably some kind of official in the shipyards, though that does not do much to narrow his identity in a place like this.

He gets a lock on the man in the Force, then turns to Gida. “Thank you for your help,” he says. “I’ve got to follow them, so I can’t get you home. Take this and call yourself a shuttlecab.” He shoves a handful of credits at her.

“We all do what we can for the cause,” Gida says. Anakin gives her a distracted smile. Tipsy patrons stumble out of the bright doorway behind her. The lights of the street make her skin look pink.

He slips after the hooded man into the jeweled night of Kuat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! It's my birthday tomorrow, and my gift to me and you is this bonus chapter courtesy of by spring break. Yay!  
> This didn't go the direction I was expecting this section to take--special thanks to francis1 for giving me the idea of sending Anakin after Dooku. Originally I was going to have it be Grievous, but I like this better.  
> Also, I did an unholy amount of research for this chapter, most of which is invisible or only very subtly present. Wookiepedia is my friend, but so are some other random websites entirely dedicated to the history and meaning of Twi'lek names.  
> I also had a moment of pure panic while writing this, because I realized that my timeline was screwed up. But then I fixed it and everything is fine now. I didn't even have to go back and edit posted chapters like I thought I would. Yay!  
> Let me know what you thought of Anakin's undercover adventure, guest-starring Gida Me, who we will probably never see again. Throwaway OC's! Yay! (Although, if anyone has an idea for how she could appear later, I'm open to it. I would have liked Gida to take a slightly larger role, it just didn't work out that way.)  
> As always, thank you everyone for your support of this story in whatever form it takes. I really appreciate it. :)


	12. Ahsoka

The door makes its usual squeak of protest as she opens it. Asajj looks up from the papers on the kitchen table—probably the monthly bills—and her mouth twists up, ready to make a snippy remark about what the tooka dragged in. Ahsoka cuts her off with a simple “Hi, I’m back.”

“You’re back,” she says dryly. “How was Naboo?”

Ahsoka drops her bag on the floor by the sofa and steps over to the table. It is definitely bills Ventress is frowning over. “Naboo was good. Beautiful. Relaxing. Weird.”

“Oh?” She taps a finger once on the table, so Ahsoka sits down across from her. She puts her elbows down on top of the papers covering the table. Ventress makes a face but does not comment.

“Well,” Ahsoka explains, “we went to visit her family and stuff. I mean, it was nice. Just . . . weird.”

She thinks she is explaining poorly, but Asajj nods and says, “Ah.” She does not press further, just says, “There’s leftovers if you’re hungry.”

“Thanks.” She pulls a cut of . . . some animal out of the conservator. Ahsoka heats in and brings the warm plate back to the table. Ventress clears her throat, so Ahsoka clears some of the papers to the side before she sets it down.

“How are things here?” Ahsoka asks between mouthfuls. Master Obi-Wan is not here to sigh at her lack of manners. Skyguy is not as bothered by such things. Ahsoka’s not sure how Padmé would react. She’s always on her best behavior around the senator, partly to follow Anakin’s example and partly because Padmé makes everyone want to behave. It is funny to watch her walk down a hall, because everyone straightens as she goes past. Ahsoka had never really noticed that before they went to Naboo together.

Ventress does not mention her lack of manners. She sighs for a different reason. “We’re behind on rent.”

“We are?” Ashoka asks, surprised. She’s not very good at this money stuff. It was never important back when the Temple was supplying all her needs.

“Yes. It’s been a while since I had a decently paying job.”

Ahsoka feels a swoop of guilt in her stomach. Her job at the caf shop does not pay very well, and she hasn’t worked in over a week besides. “I could start working two jobs,” she suggests.

Asajj shrugs. “You might need to, but if I could just get _something_ we’d be fine. I think it’ll be alright. Madega will probably let it slide. I’d rather not find out, though.”

Mrs. Madega is their landlady. She is a spiky, reptilian being—Ahsoka isn’t sure what species, but she thinks it would be rude to ask—who offers Ahsoka baked goods every time she goes upstairs to pay the rent, which Mrs. Madega insists be delivered in credits. She always forgets that Togrutas are largely carnivorous, though Ahsoka pins that on immense age rather than inattention. She does not know how old the woman was, and she hasn’t asked about that either, but she seems as ancient as Master Yoda.

“Right,” Ahsoka says. “Well, I can start looking. Just in case.”

“That’s probably wise,” Ventress says, and that is the end of it.

White and red clash together and twist apart. A tall, dark man—hate, love, pain, death, pain—breathes like a series of blows to her montrals. The vision is clearer than before—she can see red seeping through the cracks in the floor—but the crackling, cruel laughter is the same. It pounds through the room. Familiar. Inescapable.

And then she is burning and she can’t breathe, even though air is pushing in and out of her lungs—stop, stop, _stop_ —and the laughter is a cage, holding her in its gnarled fist. _STOP._

She wakes up. Uncaring that she’s gasping and crying, she stumbles to the fresher. She does not make it there, because Ventress bursts out of her own room, eyes feral and chest heaving, and shoves Ahsoka against the wall.

“What in the nine hells was that?” Ventress doesn’t shout, she asks in a raspy hiss. She looks more like an apprentice of the Sith than she has in months. Her forearm is pressed into Ahsoka’s throat, pulling her off the floor. Ahsoka scrabbles at it with her fingers.

Ventress’ eyes widen, and she backs off. Ahsoka’s heels hit the floor. “Sorry,” Ventress says. “But you have to tell me what happened.”

Ahsoka coughs and shakes her head. Ventress growls. She shakes her head again and wipes her face with the back of her hand. It comes away wet.

“Look,” Asajj huffs, “I’m sorry I attacked you. But you’ve got to tell me what just happened.”

“I’ve been having visions, okay? Why does it matter to you?” Ahsoka hugs herself.

“Because I recognize that laughter. It’s Sidious.”

There is no doubt of the truth of that statement in the Force. It certainly provides some answers, even if it leads to more questions. Still, Ahsoka sputters, “What?”

“I’d know that sound anywhere,” Ventress says. Her face twists involuntarily. “Heard it every time he—” She stops.

“You—?”

“Tell me about the vision,” Asajj interrupts.

“It’s—it’s not mine,” Ahsoka says. She slides down the wall until she is sitting. Asajj folds up on the floor across from her. The hallway is so narrow that their knees touch. “They’re Master Anakin’s. We’ve shared visions before, on accident, but never from so far apart. I had one three nights ago, too. But I couldn’t tell what was going on, just that something bad was coming.”

Ventress snorts. “Kriff that, it’s here.”

“It’s worse than just Darth Sidious,” Ahsoka says. “There’s someone else and—” She decides not to say what she was thinking.

“And?”

“He has a new apprentice. Not Dooku. Someone more powerful.”

“What do you know about him?” Ventress asks.

“He’s tall, wears all black. One lightsaber. His breathing, though, it’s almost mechanical.” _In the Force he feels like endless hate and pain. He feels like a familiar stranger. I wanted to stab him and hug him and yell at him and kill him._

“Do you think he’s already training with Sidious?”

“No,” Ahsoka says. She does not know where the certainty comes from, but the Force tells her she is right. “But, in the vision, the perspective was all wrong. I know the vision wasn’t mine, but I was there. As myself, I mean. When Anakin and I shared visions in the past, I looked in from his perspective. Maybe it’s because I was part of the vision, but I don’t know.”

“Odd,” Ventress agrees.

They sit together, just catching their breath. Ahsoka goes through the vision, searching for details she missed. The worst part of the vision is not that she has now confirmed that the voice in the background is Sidious. She already knew he was out there. It is not the new apprentice, either. The Sith Master seems to cycle through them pretty regularly. The worst part is that the vision is not even hers. Somewhere, her master is out there having these visions without even the few answers or bits of comfort that Padmé and Asajj have offered, unable to voice any thought but the wish that it would stop.

 _I should call him,_ she thinks. _He’s got to be awake after that. I should have called him right after the first one._ Shame fills her, but she realizes that he probably wouldn’t have wanted to talk about it anyway. However, with what she knows now she cannot leave him to deal with this on his own.

She unfolds herself and stands up stiffly.

“What are you doing?” Asajj asks.

“I’ve got to do something,” she says. “Give me a minute. Please.”

Ventress nods. Ahsoka shuts the door to her room behind herself. She takes a deep breath and dials his comm number.

It rings out. The old message plays. “You’ve reached Anakin Skywalker. I’m busy blowing something up right now. Feel free to bother my padawan instead! If you are my padawan, go pester Obi-Wan. Alternatively, leave a message at the beep.”

A beep rings out. She is fairly sure it is a recording of Artoo saying something rude in binary—an in-joke, shared between her master and his little friend.

“Hey, it’s Ahsoka,” she says. “I know about the visions, I’ve been having them too. I might have some answers for you. Please call me back as soon as you can. Um, that’s it. Bye.”

Asajj is standing again when Ahsoka comes out of her room. She cocks her head towards the kitchen and Ahsoka follows.

Ventress makes tea. They sit at the table with the steaming cups in front of them. Neither says a word, nor do they drink. Ahsoka traces patterns on the table’s surface with her eyes while Asajj stares out the window. The tooka that has been hanging around their apartment for the past few months is out there again, stepping along the railing of the fire escape. Ahsoka does not look, but she can hear it rattling the railing and mewling pitifully.

“Maybe we should let him in. It’s kind of cold out there tonight,” Ahsoka says.

Asajj scoffs, but keeps her eye on the tooka.

“Oh, come off it,” Ahsoka says. “Somebody’s got to be feeding him or he wouldn’t hang around here, and it’s definitely not me.”

“Must be getting scraps out of the garbage,” Asajj grunts.

“Come on,” Ahsoka says.

“We’re not letting that thing in here. It’s probably got some horrible disease, and fleas to boot. Besides, I’m allergic.”

“Now that I know is a lie,” Ahsoka says. Ventress does not defend herself, but her mouth turns down at the corner. “Please. He doesn’t look like he’ll be any trouble.”

“That thing isn’t coming anywhere past this door until it’s been properly disinfected. Also, it’s a she. I checked when I—” she stops.

 _Caught,_ Ahsoka thinks. She asks, “Can we keep it in a box? Look, she’s shivering.” The tooka is indeed shivering pitifully and looking directly at them as if she knows they are close to capitulating.

Ventress gives a long, breathy heave. “Fine. But you’re washing it before it dirties my nice clean apartment. And it’s just for tonight. You can take it to a shelter tomorrow.”

Ahsoka does not mention that she has work in the morning, just opens the door to the fire escape and coaxes the tooka closer. “Here, girl,” she coos, sending out encouraging tendrils of the Force. The tooka comes close enough to sniff at her outstretched hand. “That’s it” she says. She gives the creature a moment more, then scoops her up and carries her straight inside to the fresher.

Instead of sleeping, she spends the rest of the night washing, feeding, and making a bed for the tooka in a box Asajj procures from somewhere. That is the only helpful thing Ventress does. She spends the rest of the time making acerbic comments over Ahsoka’s shoulder.

They end up sitting shoulder-to-shoulder on the sofa, watching the tooka’s little chest rise and fall as she sleeps. Ahsoka suggests a few names, but Ventress shoots them all down.

She keeps her communicator close by for the rest of the night in case Anakin calls, but he never does. She tries him again in the morning before she leaves for work. Still no answer. She leaves another message.

Ventress coughs pointedly and nods to the tooka’s box.

“I’ll be late for work if I take her now,” Ashoka says.

“Fine. Take it tonight, then.”

“The shelter will be closed,” she points out, knowing Asajj already knows this.

“We’re not adopting a tooka just because it hangs around. I’m not even sure if Madega allows pets in here.”

“It only hangs around because you feed it. And you can ask her about it when you pay the rent.”

“Which we can’t pay today because we don’t have the money,” Asajj says.

“Exactly,” Ahsoka smiles.

The pale woman huffs. “We’re not keeping her, so I don’t need to ask Madega.”

“Right,” Ahsoka says. “Gotta go.” She leaves before Ventress can voice another protest. It is clear she is only pretending not to want the tooka. Ahsoka will have to come up with some better names.

On her lunch break she tries comming Anakin again, just in case she keeps catching him at a bad time. He almost never fails to take her calls, and he always returns the ones he is unable to answer right away. Such a long radio silence seems ominous to her.

She tries Master Obi-Wan after that, just in case Anakin lost his communicator or something. No answer from him, either.

When she gets home from work, Asajj is sitting at the kitchen table again, scrolling through a datapad. The tooka is nowhere to be found, but the box is still in the corner.

“Madega doesn’t care, and I found something that will pay advance. I think she was happy enough to get paid that she said yes without really listening. But it doesn’t matter because we can’t afford a pet,” Ventress says. Her hand moves under the table.

“You’ve already been feeding her the scraps. _And_ she’s sitting on your lap while you pet her under the table. We’re keeping her.”

“No.”

“What should we name her?”

“Dirty Devil. DD for short.”

Ahsoka considers. “I like it,” she decides.

“It doesn’t matter if you like it or not, because she’s not staying.”

“You just gave her a name and a nickname.”

“DD isn’t staying.”

“She’s staying.”

Somehow, that is the end of it. Ahsoka is not sure why Asajj put up such a fight in the first place. Ahsoka wonders why she herself feels a sudden interest in the fate of a creature that has been rooting through their garbage for months. She never cared about it before. _Oh well, the Force works in mysterious ways. Maybe she’ll be important later. DD might kill the Sith Lord someday._

Thoughts of the Sith Lord remind Ahsoka to check her comm. There are still no messages from Anakin. She does not call him or Obi-Wan again—it seems futile at this point. Instead, she calls the person most likely to know what’s going on.

He answers almost immediately. “This is Rex.”

“Hey, it’s Ahsoka.”

“It’s good to hear your voice, Commander. I’m guessing this is about the Generals?”

 _Uh oh._ “What’s going on?” she asks.

“Well,” he says, and she can tell he’s trying to decide what to say, “some of it’s classified.”

“Come on, Rex. Who am I gonna tell?”

He is silent for a second. “Okay, I can tell you some. Here’s the basic sitrep: for reasons that are classified above my clearance level, the Jedi Council took General Skywalker off medical leave to run a covert mission without any backup. Officially, he’s listed as MIA. No one knows where he went. Apparently, all of this was also above General Kenobi’s clearance level, because he only found out after we finished our last mission. He . . . panicked and went after Skywalker.”

“Obi-Wan went rogue?!”

“Technically he’s MIA,” Rex says.

She laughs in bewilderment. “Cody must be going spare.”

“Oh no,” Rex says with a strangled, hysterical laugh, “Cody’s fine. General Kenobi kidnapped him. Apparently one of the Generals understands the concept of backup. General Kenobi let him tell me what happened, though. Not where they were going, just why they went. It’s kept Cody from being branded a deserter, at least.” Master Kenobi might be able to get away with being listed as MIA, but that excuse wasn’t going to fly for a clone trooper.

“What?! Rex, that’s . . .”

“I know,” he says.

“Wait.” A sinking realization dawns on her. “If General Kenobi _and_ Commander Cody are out of the picture, who’s in charge of the 212th?”

Rex sighs. “Me. For the moment. The Admirals on the _Resolute_ and the _Negotiator_ have joint command of their battalions, but I’m responsible for everyone on the ground.”

“Wow. Not that I think you can’t handle it Rex, but I really hope nothing happens until they get back.”

“You and me both, sir.”

“Why hasn’t this hit the holonews yet?”

“The Jedi Council and the Senate want to keep it quiet. The Council doesn’t want General Skywalker’s cover to get blown or anyone to hear about what General Kenobi did. I’m guessing they’ll try to sweep everything under the rug when they get back. I think the Senate just doesn’t want anyone to panic.”

“I should call Senator Amidala and find out if she knows anything,” Ahsoka muses. She suddenly remembers something. “Rex? Why was Skyguy on medical leave?”

“Commander,” he says. It’s not his ‘I don’t want to tell you because it’s classified’ voice, it’s his ‘I’m not going to tell you because I’m too kriffing loyal’ voice.

“Rex,” she says. “It’s—I have to talk to him about something really important. This could be connected. Why was he on medical leave?”

“I’m sorry. I’m not at liberty to say.”

“Please, Rex.”

“It’s complicated.”

“Fine,” she says. “Can you at least tell me if he’s been having visions lately?”

Rex is silent for a moment. “Nobody said anything to me about it.”

“But?” she prompts.

He hesitates again. Ahsoka grips the comm tightly. “I think so. Probably. Yes. That’s not exactly what the leave was about, though. That’s all I’m going to say about it.”

“Okay. Thank you.”

He grunts in acknowledgement.

“Can you do something for me, Rex?”

“What?”

“Make sure he calls me when he gets back. Call me and hand him the comm if you have to. It’s important.”

“Okay. I will. Commander, I—” There is a crash in the background. “Kriff,” Rex says. “I’ve got to go. But I’ll make sure he calls, alright?”

“Thanks.” The comm shuts off abruptly. Ahsoka flops onto her bed. It is a lot to take in. At least she knows why Anakin hasn’t been returning her calls. Small comfort, considering the trouble he, Master Kenobi, and Cody could be in— _are in­—_ right now. It was easier to handle the craziness that follows her master wherever he goes when she was there to watch his back.

_What have you gotten yourself into this time, Skyguy?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sweet Sith, I'm late. I can only say I'm very sorry, but life has been wild. The draft of Chapter 13 was absolute hell to write and I hated every word of it. Lucky for you all, it's even longer than this extra-long chapter. Let it be said for the record that Anakin is never going undercover again because my poor brain can't take it. I hated every moment and I just want to quit writing action and get back to our regularly scheduled suffering. Who wants plot when you can have aggressive self-loathing? Not me.
> 
> Thank you all for your patience and continued support as I chug along, especially that blessed anon who commented again on Chapter 11 to tell me they had reread it like six times while waiting for my next chapter. This one is for you, buddy. Also, this fic has officially exceeded 100 comments. I am immensely grateful.
> 
> If you'd like a sneak peak at what's to come, continue reading. If you prefer your stories unspoiled, begone! Anyway, this chapter was largely humor and fluff before the storm. Next up is action laced with angst, and then we will have some more action and angst, and then we get to the real good stuff: pure, undisturbed suffering. I can't wait for that day, far off though it may be.
> 
> Until next time, friends! Hopefully this month, but we shall see. It is finals and Easter, after all.


	13. Chapter 13

Anakin follows Dooku’s lackey through the grid-like streets of Kuat, but the man simply goes home to his apartment for the night. Anakin settles in on a nearby rooftop to watch. He calls Artoo first, letting him know that he is fine and on stakeout duty until further notice and no, he’s sure he’s fine and Artoo should stay where he is and yes, he will sleep and eat when he has a chance. He calls the Council next to tell them that he has a lead on Dooku but no, he doesn’t know his whole plan yet and yes, he will call when he has more to report and thank you, Master Plo, but he’s perfectly fine.

After that it is just waiting. He has never liked stakeouts. Sitting still is not Anakin’s forte, but sitting still waiting for the hydrospanner to drop is even worse. Tonight though, it is alright. For the moment, at least, it feels like the world has stopped. No one wants anything from him and he doesn’t have to get up. He lets the sluggish ache in his joints pull him closer to the duracrete. He ties himself to the Force just enough that it will warn him if his target starts to move and looks overhead to watch the speeders go by.

She is always there at the back of his head, but now he is thinking about Padmé. He images his hand on her bare side, the way her fingers curl into his hair, the two of them dancing—slowly, alone—so far from the way he spun Gida across the club. Right now, he would give anything to talk to her.

_Stop,_ he tells himself. _You walked away. For her. Think about something else._

He looks back at the target’s apartment window. The man crosses back and forth behind it several times. It does not look like he is winding down for the night. Anakin pulls out the miniature macrobinoculars in his belt. The target’s hood is down now. When the man is in his line of sight long enough, Anakin studies his face. He does not look like a traitor. He looks like the kind of person you see smiling at you—a little snottily—as he brings drinks to your table. Normal, a tad supercilious, forgettable. After all of the betrayals Anakin has seen over the course of this war, it is no surprise to find it in such an everyday being.

Eventually, the man turns the lights off and disappears from the main room. Anakin waits. The duracrete rooftop leaves him stiff and achy, so he drags himself up once every few hours to pace and stretch. He rubs his arms because _Kriff, when did it get so cold?_ Once he starts thinking about how freezing the windy rooftop is, he realizes that maybe some of the achiness is from his constant shivering.

This is why he hates stakeouts.

He dozes once, after the Force promises his target isn’t going anywhere. It is just long enough for Anakin to jerk awake gasping and shaking from another vision. Anakin had hoped they might go away, now that he has a plan to fix everything. He just needs to finish this mission first. No such luck, though.

Anakin dry-swallows a stim capsule. Kix can chew him out later, but Anakin can say it was for the mission.

By the time the lights come back on in the target’s apartment, it is almost time for Anakin to comm Artoo again. If he comms now he won’t have to worry about it during the day while he’s tailing this guy. Maybe he can even buy himself back into Artoo’s good graces by being a bit early. On the other hand, he does not feel like getting mother-henned or cussed out at the moment, both of which are frequent and sometimes simultaneous occurrences when it comes to Artoo.

_At least you don’t have to report back to the Council yet,_ he tells himself. _Just comm Artoo and get it out of the way. Then you can tail the suspect, stop whatever Dooku’s planning, kill Dooku, end the the war, and then . . . And then everything will be fine._

He comms Artoo.

_“You didn’t consume any fuel this morning,”_ is the first thing Anakin hears.

“I’ve been busy,” he snaps. “Also, it’s a little hard to find food when you’re stuck on a stakeout.”

_“You have ration bars in your belt.”_

“Ration bars are disgusting,” Anakin says. “And anyway, how do you know I didn’t eat? Did you hack into my monitor? Just stay out of this, would you?”

_“Fry your circuits,”_ Artoo says. _“Unit R2-D2 was only ensuring the success of the mission.”_

_Right. The mission_. “Well, I checked in. Are you happy? I think the target’s going to head out soon. I might need a few extra hours before checking in again, depending on how this goes.”

There is a moment’s pause while Artoo deliberates. _“Acceptable,”_ he beeps. _“Provided that you eat.”_

Anakin would like to say “kriff you”, but he’d prefer to have _someone_ who’s not mad at him, so he just says “fine” and flips the comm off with more force than necessary. Most of the time, he can count on Artoo to be on his side, but his old friend has been tetchy lately.

The door across the street slides shut and his target starts walking. Anakin is lucky that he glimpsed the man’s face last night, because he has switched out the formalwear and cloak for an impressively ugly uniform. While he could have used the Force to track him if he had to, it is much easier to keep a lookout for someone when you know what they look like.

Anakin goes back to street level to follow him, as that is a much more practical and inconspicuous option than jumping from rooftop to rooftop in broad daylight. The man grabs breakfast from a street vendor while Anakin waits around the corner. He chokes down half a ration bar to appease Artoo and tucks the rest back in his belt.

They finally arrive at the dockyards. Anakin is not surprised, all things considered. Still, he had hoped he was wrong about the direction Dooku’s plan is aiming.

While the target is clocking in, Anakin looks around. Everyone is wearing uniforms. There is no way Anakin will be able to stick with his target without one, even using all of the crates and ship parts as cover. There are too many people. Besides, he’s probably going to be here for a while.

As the target—apparently his name is Sal Yorgan— greets his coworkers, Anakin gets as close to the man as he dares. From the way everyone nods respectfully as he passes, Anakin guesses that Yorgan has some authority among the workers. He pulls tracking and listening devices out of his belt, activates them, and carefully lifts them with the Force and maneuvers them into Yorgan’s pocket. He gets the tracker in, but Yorgan moves away while the bug is still hovering in the air. Anakin draws it back to himself slowly. He is forced to switch to Plan Besh, which is too bad, because Plan Aurek was easy. All Anakin had to do was find somewhere to loiter while he eavesdropped on Yorgan with the devices.

Plan Besh involves breaking into the locker rooms, stealing an ugly uniform to match the other workers, snagging a janitorial cart, and blending into the buzzing crowd as he follows the tracker back to Yorgan. It is time-consuming, and he could be missing the next step in Dooku’s plot. He does his best not to panic—at least outwardly—because panic and undercover work do not go well together.

When he finds Yorgan again, Anakin sets to work mopping the floor a comfortable distance away. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Yorgan inspecting a series of cover plates of varying sizes held up for him by an assistant. They then repack the box of plates and load it onto a delivery shuttle.

Anakin nonchalantly pulls the bug out of his pocket and activates it. He checks over his shoulder, but Yorgan and his companion are still absorbed in their work. Anakin slowly starts working the device across the room, keeping in close to the ground so he can drop it if necessary. Once, he hides it behind a crate when Yorgan pauses to stretch his back and look around. Anakin rubs the mop studiously over an imaginary stain.

Finally, he gets it into Yorgan’s pocket. He reaches up to his ear, pretending to scratch it, and turns on the earwig he put in while changing into his stolen uniform. The pocket is not the most ideal location. All the sound is muffled, and Yorgan could shove his hand in at any moment and discover it and the tracker. It is less risky than sticking them to his clothes would have been, at least without Anakin getting closer than he would like in order to get them on. Besides, these uniforms do not have a convenient collar to hide things under.

Technically, Anakin could leave now and find a convenient place to loiter. He stays. It is nice to keep a physical eye on his target, especially since the sound quality is so poor, and he has something to do with his hands this way.

Sticking close pays off at lunchtime. He has worked his way around the edges of the hangar Yorgan is in for several hours, continuing to mop. It gets awkward once when a cleaning droid comes through trying to do its job, but Anakin convinces it there is an urgent oil spill down the hall to take care of—and remotely engineers said oil spill with the Force for good measure.

When the whistle blows, Anakin follows Yorgan and his faithful assistant to the mess. Thankfully he is not required to show an ID chip to get in. Anakin gets a bowl of soup from the line and finds a secluded corner to sit in. Strictly speaking, he has been mopping their floors for hours, so even Obi-Wan could not accuse him of stealing.

He sips his soup quietly and projects waves of _don’t notice me_ into the Force. Yorgan and his assistant each grab a sandwich, and then Yorgan jerks his head at the door and they leave. Anakin was not expecting that. He abandons his soup—it was disgusting anyway—and follows them out of the crowded mess hall.

By the time he has woven his way through the crowd of hungry employees, the hallway is empty. The sound of a door shutting and a nudge in the Force tell him where to go.

On the door is a plaque with Yorgan’s name on it. Anakin looks up and down the hall. There is a cracked door, leading into what looks like a break room. He pushes it open a slips inside.

There is a caf machine in the corner, and worn couches are grouped around low tables throughout the room. Anakin finds a chair to pretend to sleep in just in case anyone comes in. It creaks as he sits down. Otherwise, the room is quiet.

He adjusts his earwig and listens in on Yorgan’s conversation.

“Yeah, ze’s fine. We talked a couple days ago. The kids keep zer busy, but ze’s happy.” That is the assistant speaking. Ze is an androgynous species Anakin vaguely remembers studying as a padawan but cannot recall the name of. The multicolored spines are very distinctive, though.

“Good, good,” Yorgan says. The feed crackles softly. “Danji.”

“Yes, sir?”

“There’s something I want to speak to you about.” _This is it,_ Anakin thinks.

“Sir?”

“Danji, you remember when I got you this job.”

“Of course. I’m very thankful you did.”

“Yes. And you said if there was anything you could ever do for me . . .” Yorgan trails off leadingly.

“I remember.” Danji pauses. “Is there something you need me to do?”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Yorgan says. “I can compensate you for your time, but I need you to help me with something and keep quiet about it.”

“I—”

“Danji. If you help me with this, your job here will not be affected.” _And if you don’t, you’re gone,_ Anakin interprets. Yorgan adds, “Just think of what a nice little bonus will do for your sibling and zer children. I’m sure ze would appreciate it.”

“Of—of course. I just—what do you want me to do?” Danji asks.

“As you know, we’re shipping out the two Destroyers this week. I’m expecting some special crates to arrive later today. I want them to be sent on board without any fuss. Do you think you could help me with that?”

“I think so, sir,” Danji says.

“Excellent. It’s important that I have employees I can trust. You’re just the person for the job.”

“Thank you, Mister Yorgan.”

“Oh no, thank _you_ , Danji,” Yorgan says. Somehow, he’s been managing to sound both oily and fatherly at once. This line is definitely more on the oily side, though. What a creep.

The whistle blows again and Anakin jerks out of his seat. Everything goes black for a second from the sudden change in position. As he returns to his janitorial cart, Anakin keeps an ear focused on Yorgan and Danji in case they say anything else important, but they only make small talk as they go back to their posts.

Anakin debates his options. It sounds as if Dooku plans to use Yorgan to sabotage the ships. The ideal choice for that would be remote-detonated bombs set off after the ships are sent to Kamino and loaded with troops. The destruction of two entire battalions and two cruisers would be devastating. It would be difficult to keep the bombs hidden well enough to pull it off, and the bomber would have to be within signal range, but the plan is definitely possible. Or maybe it is a bioweapon of some kind that Dooku plans to infect the troops with. There are plenty of possibilities. The real problem is not so much what is inside the crates as how Anakin can stop them.

Yorgan did not mention how many crates were coming or when they were arriving, so the simplest thing is probably to sneak onboard the ships tonight and remove them with Artoo’s help. He sends Artoo a brief message warning him to be on standby.

After that Anakin gets rid of the janitorial cart. There is only so long he can mop the same hangar without seeming suspicious. He keeps the uniform, though, since he still needs to know what the crates look like so he can find them later. He sneaks aboard one of the unoccupied delivery shuttles across the hangar from Yorgan and Danji and watches them from the cockpit for the rest of the day. It seems the crates do not arrive simultaneously, because occasionally Yorgan will put a hand out and Danji will scribble on zer holopad without opening the box. The uninspected crates are loaded onto the delivery shuttle with the boxes of plates.

Eventually, it grows dark outside and the building clears out. The two finish loading the delivery shuttle. Unfortunately, the listening device takes this moment to wheeze one last fit of crackling and die. The tracker is still going strong, but it is the less useful of Anakin’s assets.

He is forced to watch without audio as Yorgan goes to the doors of the hangar to make a comm call, likely to Dooku, and Danji begins the pre-flight checks on the shuttle. Anakin takes the opportunity to sneak onto their ship.

The shuttle takes off, and he cautiously leaves the closet he squeezed into in order to take a closer look at the crates in the cargo bay.

It is an orderly mess down here. The crates are stacked from floor to ceiling, leaving only the narrowest of rows between. Each box is stamped with a series of numbers corresponding to an area of the ship. Unfortunately, the crates he is looking for are most likely intended to be sent to many different sections of the cruisers.

There is no time to start looking through the boxes now. Anakin will have to trust the Force to guide him. If he is lucky, they will only deliver to one of the ships tonight, or this mission could get sticky. He goes back to his closet.

Soon enough, the ship docks. While Kuat itself is heavily focused on ship construction, the main bulk of the work happens on a sentient-made ring built around the planet. This enables them to build huge ships like Destroyers that are too large to enter a planet’s atmosphere. The ring is where they land now.

Anakin exits the shuttle while Yorgan and Danji are unloading. Several other workers come over to help. None of the new workers seem to know Yorgan, so Anakin falls in line with them.

They load the crates onto anti-grav sleds, keeping the crates with similar stamps together. When the ship is empty, they start to drag the sleds away.

_Must have been wrong about the plan,_ Anakin thinks. _No way these guys aren’t going to open up these boxes, and then what will Yorgan do?_ Yorgan is following along with the rest of them, pulling his own sled. _I guess he stamped all Dooku’s crates the same._

Yorgan nods to Danji, and ze grabs zer own sled. Anakin does the same. They all travel through a docking tunnel onto one of the new Destroyers. The workers start to split off, heading to different levels to drop off their boxes.

Anakin checks his numbers. They are for the crew quarters. Danji and Yorgan are both headed for the life support systems, which seems like an excellent place to set off a bioweapon. If one sabotages the sensors, a chemical inside the air filtration system could be virtually undetectable until it was too late to stop its spread.

Anakin stops a tired-looking guy and begs, “Can you take this thing to the barracks? I really gotta take a leak and they were expecting these panels an hour ago.”

“What?”

“Please, man.” Anakin shifts from foot to foot for emphasis.

He snorts. “Yeah, fine.”

“Thanks,” Anakin says as he darts after Yorgan. He is pretty sure the man mutters something about kids behind him.

The closer he gets to the life support systems, the worse the Force feels. He rushes past a bunch of droids all whistling excitedly.

Anakin looks down quickly as Yorgan passes, heading in the opposite direction and pushing Danji in front of him. While Anakin pities zer, he did not see a blaster on Yorgan, so he continues on.

When he gets to the life support center, the Force is like rot swirling around his head. It is no wonder, because the man himself is there. He stands up from looming over a droid hacking one of the control boards and looks directly at Anakin.

“Skywalker. I’m surprised you got here so early. I sensed you coming, of course. So unsubtle. But really, I was expecting a higher level of incompetence. What a pleasant surprise.”

Anakin stands there in his stupid, ugly uniform, blinking back at him, and all he can think is _no, no._ It was not supposed to happen this way. All of his careful work, and he failed.

The droid keeps hacking and the crates are all lying empty and _kriff, those droids I passed earlier, what were they holding?_ and there is no way Artoo can get here in time and how in the nine Corellian hells is he supposed to assassinate a man who is staring at him with his pretentiously-curved lightsaber in his hand?

Anakin pulls out his own lightsaber—excellent pockets are the only redeeming feature of this stupid outfit—and for a moment he is not sure who he is going to use it on. But there are lives at stake here, clone brothers and all of the oblivious construction workers, and he still has a job to do before the war can be over.

So, he does not say anything to the man’s taunts. He reaches into his pocket and sends Artoo a quick series of pings over the comms. Then, he ignites his blade and charges at Dooku.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, lovely humans. I'm as shocked as you are to have this chapter done. I needed a break from finals so I worked on this. It is now 1:30 am and I deeply regret this choice. But here we are.
> 
> I have mixed feelings about this chapter. It's mostly pushing plot forward without any of the fun of characterization, but I also got to create Danji, who excites me as a writer. I wasn't sure about writing an androgynous character, but Star Wars is a place for all kinds of species so I wanted to have someone with a unique physiology. I'm not sure about the pronouns. Someone with authority on this tell me if I've misused them. I'm not sure if it's obvious, but I meant to imply that it was difficult for Danji to find a job because of zer sexuality/species. Yorgan helped zer out for the purpose of having a favor to cash in. I've written Kuat in general to be a systematically xenophobic place. Not because I have anything against industry, I just wanted a harsh environment on multiple levels. I also headcanon that Anakin is a very accepting person of diversity--one of his best friends is a droid, after all--and I wanted to show him being his compassionate and accepting self toward others even at his lowest point, when he can't give those things to himself.
> 
> I'd love to hear your thoughts on these issues, or anything else you have to say about this chapter/story. I deeply apologize for the cliffhanger, but this chapter is super long already and I was desperate for a place to cut it. I promise you will not be left hanging forever.
> 
> Also, I made some very minor changes to the Dooku/Yorgan dialogue in chapter 11, in order to appease my demons (I mean plot holes). Nothing of note has changed.


	14. Chapter 14

After Rex hangs up, Ahsoka takes a moment to collect herself. She tries to reach for the Force, but she cannot clear her head. She shakes off her frustration and comms Padmé.

“This is Padmé.”

“Hi. It’s Ahsoka.”

“Ahsoka! Oh, I’m so glad you called!” She stops and then says, “I’m guessing you heard the news, then.”

“About Anakin and Obi-Wan? Yeah.”

“I’m sorry,” Padmé says. “Who told you?”

“Rex. I was trying to contact Master Anakin about the visions, but I couldn’t get ahold of him.”

“I’m really sorry, Ahsoka. I would have called you sooner, but the situation being what it is, we’re not supposed to talk about it outside of Senate business. But if you already heard, maybe I can fill in some blanks. How much do you know?”

“Well, Rex said Skyguy got taken off medical leave to run some covert mission and that Obi-Wan freaked out because the Council didn’t consult him, so he kidnapped Cody and ran off to find him.”

“What?” Padmé gasps. “That’s not at all what I heard.”

“Really? Rex seemed pretty sure. What did you hear?”

“They said Anakin and Obi-Wan had both disappeared, and that Anakin was hurt. I guess the official story was a cover up for this mission?”

“Must be,” Ahsoka says. Padmé mutters something in response, but the only word Ahsoka catches is “Council.” She agrees with the sentiment, though she was expecting a stronger reaction. “You’re taking this pretty well,” Ahsoka says.

She laughs sharply. “It’s better than what I thought had happened, if not by much. I’m just glad they’re not being held prisoner and tortured somewhere.”

 _That we know of,_ Ahsoka amends silently. _Covert missions don’t typically end well for us._ She says, “Yeah.” Padmé doesn’t need the extra worry.

“Ahsoka,” Padmé says after a moment, “I don’t mean to pry, but, well, you mentioned wanting to talk to Anakin about the visions. Are they getting worse?”

 _Don’t tell her_ , something inside Ahsoka says. There’s no one in the galaxy that she trusts more to have her back, except Anakin and Rex. And yet, this nagging voice says she should keep this to herself. Maybe the visions are a little personal, but they’re also huge. Whatever is going to happen will be much bigger than Ahsoka, and she is going to need all the help she can get.

“There have been some developments,” she says. “Maybe we could talk about it later?”

“Alright,” Padmé says. They agree to meet up the following night for dinner. Padmé apologizes again and says goodbye. Ahsoka goes to find DD.

The next day Ahsoka goes to work. It’s all swirling around in her head: the visions, Anakin, Rex, Master Kenobi, Cody, Sidious. Asajj has not said a word about any of it since their mutual freak-out in the hallway, maybe because nothing has changed for her. She already knew Sidious was out there and what he sounded like. The reminder might have been painful, but she knows what they’re up against far more intimately than Ahsoka ever wants to.

She serves caf to a line of mournful and largely ungrateful customers. The holoscreen in the corner drones on in the background. Some sadist turned it to the Senate channel and requested volume. Even after he leaves, people keep watching, so the droning of politics itches in the back of her mind for hours because she is not allowed to turn the thing off while customers are watching. The Supreme Chancellor gives a speech, which makes her think of Anakin.

She never understood why Anakin liked some smarmy old politician so much. Her master used to drag her along to visit the Chancellor sometimes, and he would always give her this _look_ when Skyguy wasn’t watching. She shakes off the creeping shivers and gets back to work.

When her shift ends Ahsoka still has some time before she is supposed to go to Padmé’s, so she heads home to change. Her uniform smells like caf and sugar. There is a stain down the front, and she has no idea where it came from. _That will have to come out before tomorrow._

She still has time to kill after she gets dressed. Ahsoka scoops DD up from where she is lurking in the hall and carries her over to the sofa. She flips through the holochannels looking for something interesting. She stops on the news channel, because they are running a story about some backwater moon called Rinndio II and she hears Master Kenobi’s name mentioned.

The newscaster is going on and on about what a great victory it was and how amazing the great Negotiator is and how with Kenobi and Skywalker on the Republic’s side, victory must be just around the corner. It’s utter poodoo of course. Obi-Wan is AWOL, Anakin is probably far away from the front lines, and it’s _never_ been clear who was going to win this war. If it wasn’t for Rex and Padmé, this Republic propaganda would be her main source of news on the war, but even their information is incomplete.

A round of commercials comes on. The door bangs open a moment later. Ahsoka turns around in her seat. Asajj walks in, dripping rain water and complaining about skeevy clients under her breath.

“Hi,” Ahsoka says.

“Hello,” Asajj groans. “I hope you appreciate everything I’ve been through today.”

Ahsoka has no idea what Asajj did today. Ventress was supposed to meet with her client today to discuss job details, but clearly things didn’t go as planned. Now does not seem like the right time to point this out. “Of course,” she says.

Asajj drops onto the third of the couch Ahsoka is not occupying. DD immediately abandons Ahsoka to sit in her lap. _Traitor._ “I’m going to order takeout. Do you want anything?”

“I’m actually going over to Senator Amidala’s for dinner,” she says apologetically. This sends Asajj into another round of muttering, this time about the ungratefulness of the youth. She and Master Kenobi really do seem alike sometimes.

Ahsoka glances at the wall chrono. She should leave for Padmé’s soon.

“What is this we’re watching?” Asajj asks, petting the furry traitor.

“News channel,” Ahsoka says. “You can change it, I’ve got to get going pretty soon anyways.”

“Eh,” she says. She sounds so devoid of energy, Ahsoka feels kind of guilty for leaving her alone. Still, meeting Padmé is important. She gets up slowly.

The holoscreen switches from an anti-depressants medication commercial to a political ad about the Chancellor’s push for more emergency powers. “Not this again,” Ahsoka moans. “We already had it playing all day at work. I’m leaving for real now. I’ll see you—”

“Shut up,” Asajj says sharply.

“Excuse me?”

“Be quiet,” she says, eyes glued to the screen.

Ahsoka looks between Ventress and the holoscreen, confused. The Chancellor is still babbling on, giving Ahsoka that same itchy-creepy feeling from earlier. Ventress seems way too interested in the ad for someone who has never expressed a political opinion before.

“Hey, what’s—?”

“Shh,” Asajj says, not paying any more attention to Ahsoka than what’s required to get her to be silent.

Ahsoka stays where she is, too curious to go. She is too focused on watching Ventress to really note what the commercial is saying. When the news comes back on, Asajj still doesn’t move. She is no longer watching the screen intently, just staring blankly ahead.

Ahsoka clears her throat gently. No response. “Asajj?” she asks. Nothing. She pulls out her ‘I’m a commander and you should do as a say’ voice and snaps, “Ventress!”

Asajj stands up so fast DD falls to the floor. The tooka mews angrily and hides under the caf table. Asajj whirls to face Ahsoka with a sharp inhale.

“What’s going on?” Ahsoka asks.

Asajj finally seems to come back to herself. She squints at Ahsoka, and then her eyes widen, and she lunges forward to grab Ahsoka by the shoulders. “It’s him,” she says.

“What?”

“It’s him. Palpatine.” Ventress is starting to look as wild as she did the night she recognized Sidious’s laughter.

“I don’t get it,” Ahsoka says. She could almost see where this is going, but no. _That’s impossible. We would know. He couldn’t—_

“Sidious. Palpatine. I heard his voice and then—the Force, it—it all makes sense. Oh gods, it all makes sense. And Dooku, he—he must know. He must have known all along and I—”

She keeps rambling. Ahsoka’s head is spinning. The only thing she can feel is Asajj’s bruising grip on her arms. There is no way. This does not add up— _it doesn’t_ —because what about—? “How do you know? How can you be sure?” she asks.

“Look in the Force. Kriff, don’t you see it?”

“Oh, gods,” Ahsoka says. She is barely reaching and the Force is screaming all around her. Now that someone has pointed it out, the Force is like a battering ram chanting, ‘this is true, this is true’. Ahsoka says, “Force. This is not happening.”

“Oh, honey,” Asajj says with a hysterical laugh. “Believe me, it’s already happened. I think you should cancel your dinner plans.”

_Dinner plans?_ “Kriff! I gotta—Padmé! I gotta tell Padmé! She can—” Ahsoka trails off. It hits her. This is huge. This is way bigger than one woman can fix, no matter who she is. This man has his fingers in every pie in the galaxy. He controls the Senate. He controls the Confederacy. The war— _Force, the war. He did all this. All the deaths. All the suffering. Gods._

She glances around the room. The furniture is floating. DD is hissing. Ventress is trembling and still gripping Ahsoka’s arms painfully tight. It all seems very far-off. Maybe she’s going into shock.

She swallows. Ventress is talking again, but Ahsoka can’t tell what she’s saying. She’s shaking Ahsoka and that hurts a little. She pushes herself away.

“Can I have some water?” she croaks.

After that she is sitting on the floor with a shaking cup in her hands. She’s not sure how that happened, but Ventress is sitting across from her, looking stricken and clutching DD.

“What—?” is all Ahsoka manages to get out.

“You were going to—the senator,” Asajj says dazedly.

“Right,” Ahsoka says. She should probably do something. Sidious is Palpatine. Palpatine is the Chancellor. Sidious is the Chancellor. Padmé could be talking to him right now. She could be on the comms or in the room with the most evil Sith Lord in centuries, and she doesn’t even know it. “No,” she says. “I have to talk to her. We have to do something.”

“I don’t see how involving the bureaucracy is going to help. We need to come up with a plan so we can kill him.”

“And leave the rest of the galaxy in chaos? Asajj, he—he controls both sides of the war. If we just kill him it will only result in more people getting killed in the confusion, fighting to fill the power vacuum. And besides, he’s way more powerful than the two of us combined.”

Ventress starts to protest, but Ahsoka cuts her off. “Look, Senator Amidala is different. She can help us, I know it.”

Ventress stills in a way that gives Ahsoka the distinct impression she is drawing strength from the Force, but she is too exhausted to feel it herself. “Fine. Find out what she has to offer. But if she doesn’t do it right, I still say assassination.”

“Alright.” Ahsoka stands up. “Hey, at least we won’t be bursting in unannounced, since we already have plans and all.”

“We?” Asajj says. She stands too, DD still cradled in her arms.

“Oh, yeah. You’re coming too. You’re the one who figured all this out. I’m gonna need you to back me up.”

“I don’t think she’s going to be very happy to see me.”

“Don’t you think we have more important things to be worrying about?” Ahsoka gives her a look.

Asajj glares. “I’m just saying, she might be more receptive without all of the—past history.”

“Asajj, please. I need your help. If we want to do this right, we’re going to need your skills and everything you’ve got on him.”

“Fine.” She marches to the door and gives Ahsoka a raised eyebrow. “Well? Come on, then. Let’s go take down a Sith Lord the non-assassination way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alexa, play the Imperial March.
> 
> Happy Star Wars Week, everyone! Whether you celebrate Revenge of the 5th or 6th, it's a great time to be in the fandom because everyone is posting, including me! If you didn't notice, this work is part of a series now. The other works are bonus content that covers events from this story from alternate POVs. I've had a lot of fun writing them the past few days, but I was a little disappointed at the lack of reception. I think that's my fault for not announcing the new content in this fic. But I needed a chapter to post in order to give you an update, because I didn't want to do that thing where authors post a new chapter just to say what's going on. I understand the purpose of the action, but it's always a huge letdown and I didn't want to do that to you. Instead, if you didn't see the bonus stuff before, now you get a new chapter plus 1.5 mini stories! (One is still a WIP.)
> 
> Warning: Bonus content does have spoilers for the published chapters of this fic!
> 
> I mention on the new fics that I am accepting requests. That's still a thing, so look at those author's notes for details! I'm going to continue with the bonus content for special occasions and whenever I need a break from this fic.
> 
> The fic is starting to live up to its title now. On a related note, I was thinking about changing the summary to make it sound better. Any suggestions on a funnier/more accurate/more appealing way to summarize this fic? What kind of summary draws you to a story and what does this summary need? I think it's mostly the first paragraph that needs work.


	15. Chapter 15

Padmé is in the kitchen when Threepio shouts in surprise. She rushes into the main room to see “Ahsoka?” That is not surprising, she is actually a little late for their dinner. What is surprising is that behind Ahsoka is “Ventress?”

“Evening.” The former Separatist assassin strolls casually into Padmé’s apartment.

“Hi,” Ahsoka says. “Sorry I’m late. We, uh—well . . .” she trails off helplessly and gestures to the woman behind her.

“What’s going on?” Padmé asks.

“Yes, that’s what I’d like to know,” Threepio says. “Miss Ahsoka, it really is most inappropriate to arrive so behind schedule, and with an extra guest.”

“Padmé, can we talk?” Ahsoka looks around meaningfully.

“Oh! Yes, it’s safe to talk,” Padmé says when she catches on. “Threepio, would you get the food plated? And set an extra spot for our guest.”

“Of course, Mistress. I am programmed for hospitality.” He waddles into the kitchen.

“Better?” Padmé asks.

Ahsoka still looks uneasy. She exchanges a glance with Ventress. “Padmé, are you absolutely sure this conversation is secure here?”

Padmé frowns. “Why don’t we take this into my office?”

“Lead the way,” Ventress says.

Padmé shuts and locks the door to her home office behind them. “Have a seat,” she invites, sinking into her desk chair. She pulls a bug-detecting device out of her desk and sweeps the room, and then activates her jammer. She looks up at the pair sitting on her sofa—one stiff and tense, the other draped like a jungle cat, lazy and powerful—and raises an eyebrow. Ahsoka nods in answer to her silent question.

“That should be enough,” Ahsoka says. _Should be?_ Pamdé wonders. _What could possibly—?_

Ahsoka takes a breath, but she hesitates again. “You might want to brace yourself,” she says, grimacing apologetically.

Padmé nods. She guessed this is going to be unpleasant.

Ahsoka bites her lip. Padmé does her best to breathe.

Ventress rolls her eyes at Ahsoka, and says, “For Force’s sake, there’s no point in holding back.” She turns to face Padmé with the most impassioned, direct look Padmé has witnessed from her yet and says, “We discovered that Chancellor Palpatine is actually the Sith Lord, Darth Sidious.”

Padmé chokes on her own saliva in a most un-senator-like way. _Unpleasant was an understatement._

“So let me get this right,” Padmé says after the deep breathing, after her brain stops spitting sparks, after Threepio’s queries about dinner going cold have been shooed away, and after Ahsoka and Ventress have explained everything they know and how they know it, “he manipulated the war— _both sides_ of the war—took control of most of the power in the Galactic Senate, and ensured that nearly everyone who is anyone was indebted to him in some way, all while making sure the galaxy at large saw him as a benevolent old man?”

Ahsoka winces. “Unfortunately.”

“Luckily,” Ventress says, “the tooka is out of the bag, and it’s not too late to stop him.”

“I have some questions,” Padmé says. “First of all, what about the clones? Did he plan them too? He must have, because they just appeared, ready to fight our war for us. We needed them, so nobody asked any questions, but someone had to have ordered their creation _years_ before the fighting began.”

“He planned this a long time ago, didn’t he?” Ahsoka asks. “It’s been—the oldest clones are almost thirteen years old.”

The reasons for the Separatist-Loyalist split go back longer than that, Padmé knows. Tensions were escalating before the creation of the clones was even ordered. In fact, some of the truly valid Separatist complaints have been issues since before Padmé was born. In light of recent events, their criticism of Republic corruption seems more poignant than ever. This is not the time for a history lesson, though.

“How did the Jedi not sense this? He’s practically living in your backyard.” Padmé turns to Ventress. “You’ve encountered him in his roles as both Chancellor and Sith, how did _you_ not know this?” she asks.

“He takes great pains to conceal his identity from everyone, including cloaking himself in the Force,” Ventress says. She is calm, but there is an edge to her voice that Padmé can’t interpret.

“And besides, the Force is so clouded, it’s hard to see anything. Especially on Coruscant. It wasn’t always like this, but it has been for years, since before I came to the Temple,” Ahsoka adds, stung. “And it’s not like you noticed either. You see him almost every day.”

Padmé realizes her mistake. Who is she to place blame? “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said it like that, it wasn’t fair to you. Either of you,” she adds, looking at Ventress. She shrugs and looks away. “I’m sorry,” Padmé says again.

“Let’s just move on, shall we?” Ventress suggests.

“Right,” Padmé says. “Next question, then. He’s obviously been leading a double life. Is there anything you can tell us about the real him, the one we don’t know?”

“Of course,” Ventress laughs bitterly. “I could tell you stories that would turn your nails black, Senator. But let me sum up: he is vicious, sadistic, merciless, and he is smarter than you and stronger than you, and he knows it. He knows every move you make before you know you’re going to make it. And when he kills, he does it slowly, and he laughs while you scream. Is that enough, or should I go into more detail?”

“I get the picture, thank you,” Padmé says. She clears her throat.

Ventress nods and relaxes back into her seat. Ahsoka fidgets.

“I just—” Pamdé starts. “He _can_ be beaten, can’t he?” She tries not to sound pleading, with dubious success.

“Not in my experience,” says Ventress. Her statement sounds final, but Padmé senses a _“but”_ somewhere.

She grabs onto it. “Are there any weaknesses we can use? Anything that could help us? I’d like to get a feel for what kind of plan we need. If he hasn’t been beaten yet, there’s a first time for everything.”

Ahsoka nudges Ventress. “I told you she would help us.”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think she could. But there’s no sense in being naïve about the situation, either.” The _“like you two are acting”_ is implied.

Which is fair, Padmé supposes. Padmé is optimistic by nature, but Ventress comes by her pragmatism honestly. She would not be the first to misinterpret Padmé’s stubborn hope as naivety.

Ventress sighs and says, “Look, Senator, Sidious controls all the power. Our only advantage is that he doesn’t know we’re onto him. But if we just take him out, that leaves a vacuum in galactic that will get messy trying to fill. We’ve come to you because we need you to help us expose him for what he is, but only at the right moment.”

“Not that I wouldn’t have wanted to tell you anyways,” Ahsoka says. “But we’re going to have to be really careful with this. It’s not our secret, but for the sake of everyone we have to keep it.”

“Of course,” Padmé says. “I—” she hesitates. She does not know Ventress well. In fact, Padmé is still unclear on why Ventress is here, or why Ahsoka seems so comfortable around her. Padmé put aside her own feelings for the sake of this conversation, but she doesn’t know how far she can trust this woman. She doesn’t have a choice, though. This is too big a moment for anything but hope. Bail and Mon will forgive her later for what she is about to say. “I’m actually already part of a group that’s attempting to depose Chancellor Palpatine.”

“What?” Ahsoka asks.

“I and several other senators have been secretly gathering evidence on his crimes and power grabs. We never suspected the real situation, of course, but I’ve known something wasn’t right for a while now. We’ve been working very slowly and carefully, but with what we know now I think the time for that might be over. We need to move quickly and strike him before he can strike us.”

“I disagree,” Ventress says.

“He is too powerful for you and your senator friends to simply confront with your evidence and hope for the best. You’ll be labeled traitors and likely killed in ‘accidents.’”

“What do you suggest, then?” Padmé asks.

“You need to find real, hard proof that he is a Sith. You need to spread it everywhere. Plaster it on the holonet. Have your senator friends spread it to their planets. Program it into that droid out there. Before he knows what’s happening, send the best warriors in the galaxy to confront him, but only after they’re trained together against his combat style. And in the meantime, for the love of the Force, don’t get caught.”

“She makes a fair point,” Ahsoka says.

Padmé concedes. “We’ll have to discuss it further with my associates. Did you two arrive here covertly?”

“Yes.”

“More covertly than Master Anakin usually does,” Ahsoka mutters.

Padmé’s heart aches at the thought of him. Anakin, on a covert mission somewhere, injured and without backup, but at least not missing. Anakin, who is so close with the Chancellor, who thinks of him as a mentor and friend. _Oh, Anakin._

“In that case,” Padmé says, “why don’t we have dinner and I’ll find some excuse to invite them over?”

“I doubt they’ll take my appearance as well as you did, but I suppose we must.”

“This ought to be fun,” Ahsoka says.

The wonderful thing about Bail and Mon is that they’ve been playing the game a long time. They are experts at keeping their cool. Padmé does her best to prepare them both for the severity of the situation and the unusual messengers. Mon takes Ahsoka and Ventress’s presence in stride, and the news they have to deliver she handles remarkably well. Bail takes a little more time to come around, but that’s his usual way: slow to give approval, but once he commits he is extremely loyal. Mon is measured in her decision-making too, but she’s quicker and sharper than most people give her credit for.

Despite the severity of the situation, the senators’s plan does not change much with this new information, at least for the foreseeable future. They still need to focus on carefully gathering evidence. The plan for what they do with that evidence has changed a great deal, and they still need to iron out the details. The five of them will figure it out, though. It’ll be more difficult for them all to meet now that ‘Senate business’ won’t work as a reason to meet openly, but considering that they are dealing with a Sith, Padmé is grateful to have Force-users on their side. They update the senators’s original framework for communication, meetings, passwords and code phrases, and policies on adding new members to their group.

Bail and Mon do give Padmé side-eyes for bringing in Ahsoka and Ventress without their agreement, but they put it aside because of the necessity of her actions.

Padmé was unsure about trusting Ventress earlier. Seeing how professionally she behaves in front of Bail and Mon and how much intel she has to contribute soothes her fears. Ahsoka trusts her too, clearly. The two behave more like old friends than former enemies.

Padmé puts her confusion aside—just as she already tucked away her worry, fear, anger, and hurt—for the sake of the issue at hand.

“We need to prepare for what will come after. I fear this has changed from a deposition into a rebellion and we need to be ready to deal with the consequences of a galactic-scale power upheaval,” Mon says.

_A rebellion? I hadn’t thought of it that way before, but I guess his regime is already in place_ , Pamdé thinks. She looks around at Bail’s drooping eyes, Ahsoka’s chin slipping off where it’s propped on her fist, the chrono on the wall, and says, “We’ll have to discuss that later. It’ll have to be talked about at some point, but I think for now we should all get some rest and prepare ourselves for what’s ahead.”

Mon visually sweeps the room just as Padmé did and sighs. “Perhaps you’re right.”

“That sounds perfect,” Bail says. He stands and offers Mon a hand. The others also rise. “Wouldn’t want to appear over-tired in the session tomorrow.” He looks at Ventress and Ahsoka. “Can I call you ladies a speeder?”

“No,” Ventress says. “Too conspicuous. We’ll handle it.”

“Thanks, though, Senator Organa.”

“You can call me Bail, considering we’re likely to commit treason together.”

“Um, thanks I guess?”

Bail chuckles. “You’re welcome. I’ll be seeing you.”

Padmé walks her fellow senators to the door. The initial shock has long since worn off their faces. For hours, they’ve been set with the same determination Padmé used to push through the evening. Now that their work is done for the night, she can see the horror and betrayal they are all feeling in the lines on her friends’s faces.

“Thank you,” she says. Her chest is suddenly pounding with the gratefulness she feels for these people. These amazing, courageous, righteous people that she can trust with her life. No, with the lives of every being in the galaxy. With democracy’s life. Her world is falling down around her ears, but they make Padmé feel strong. Instead of wrapping them in rathtar hugs like she wants to, Padmé takes their hands in her own and squeezes. “Thank you.”

“We’ll speak again soon, Padmé,” Mon says, covering their joined hands with her free one.

“We can get through this,” Bail says. “We _will_.”

Mon says, “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight. Stay safe,” Padmé says.

She returns to where her two remaining guests are conversing and catches the tail end of Ventress’s sentence.

“—surprisingly decent for senators. Competent. Uncorrupted.”

“Who knew senators could be nice people?” Ahsoka says, turning to grin at Padmé.

“I’m astounded,” Padmé says dryly. Ventress looks unruffled despite being overheard. Ahsoka yawns widely, exposing her sharp togruta teeth in a way she typically avoids among strangers. “I’m guessing you two are ready to get some sleep.”

“Yeah,” Ahsoka agrees. “Thanks for everything,” she says, throwing her arms around Padmé.

Padmé returns the embrace with all of the strength she held back with Bail and Mon. She wonders if her own mother felt like this when Padmé became queen, proud and terrified. “I love you,” she says.

Ventress’s pointed cough nearly covers Ahsoka’s sharp inhale, but Padmé catches it. She draws back to arm’s length of Ahsoka. “I’ll walk you two to the door,” she says to ease the moment.

Before they go Padmé says, “There’s just one thing I still don’t get.”

“What?” Ahsoka asks.

“How are you two even on good terms? Let alone sharing visions that Ahsoka is also sharing with Ana—Master Skywalker?”

Ventress snorts.

Ahsoka brightens. “Oh, that’s simple. Asajj and I are roommates.”

“What?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess what, I'm not dead! I am aware that this is arriving much later than promised. I have some excuses, but they're not great. I think my best one is that I have a real life. If it's any consolation, next chapter will be extra long and emotional, and we'll finally get to finish the fight with Dooku!  
> Comments mean love. Let me know what you thought of all the Senators's reactions to the big news! Honestly it turned out less dramatic than I was hoping for, but Dang it, Jim, I'm a writer not a miracle worker! Which reminds me that my worst excuse is that I've been reading a bunch of really great Stark Trek AOS fics recently, and then there was that amazing 20-ish hour podfic. Man, I love a good podfic. But they never seem to get much attention. Support podficcers, guys! They're talented and dedicated and wonderful.  
> Anyway, back on topic. This chapter is dedicated to lucythelunatic, who freakin' finally got an ao3 account. (Sorry for calling you out, I'm just really jazzed about this.) Lucy has supported this fic for a long time, and I'd like to take this opportunity to thank each and every person who has helped this story along. Having such wonderful readers is an amazing confidence boost. Thanks, everybody.


	16. Chapter 16

_Voom. Hiss._ Red and blue sizzle between the two combatants. Dooku grins at him from the other side of the blade lock. It’s more a baring of teeth than a grin, really.

“Honestly, boy, did you think I was unaware of your little spy mission?” he taunts. Which is just great, because now Anakin is mad.

He snarls and shoves with his blade. Dooku spins away.

Anakin rushes him and batters Dooku with an aggressive flurry of strokes. His goal is to barrage Dooku too intensely for the Count to realize that Anakin is stalling. He needs to buy enough time for Artoo to arrive and start deactivating the bombs.

The Council sent him to kill Dooku and to discover and thwart his plans—but mostly to kill him. He needs to kill Dooku on the Council’s orders to stop the war and save thousands of lives. He also needs to deactivate the bombs. Anakin can feel the thousands of lifeforms filling this ship with the song of the Force. If Dooku knew Anakin was onto him and set this trap, Anakin’s estimates for the time of the bombs’ detonation may be wildly off. Dooku could be planning to detonate them as soon as he gets clear of the blast zone. In that case, he can’t let Dooku get away, but he also can’t afford to waste any time before deactivating the devices.

Dooku meets him stroke for stroke. He whips out with the Force and sends Anakin skidding back. Anakin pants. Dooku smirks. “Nothing to say, Skywalker? Honestly, didn’t Kenobi teach you any manners?”

Witty insults, yeah that’s good. It lets Anakin buy a little time and actually get a chance to _breathe_ , for Force’s sake. “Oh, believe me, he tried,” Anakin says. He shrugs and grins ruefully. “What can I say? I’m a lost cause.”

He goes on the assault again, but with a more methodical approach this time. Normally that would be Obi-Wan’s job, but he’s not here and Anakin’s arms are shaking minutely. He didn’t have much to eat today, and thanks to the threat of Kix’s monitor he didn’t take any stims either. A jolt runs through him because he doesn’t know how he’s going to do this, but he must save all these people. He has to.

He pulls the Force in tighter and it eagerly soaks into him.

But he reached out in fear, so that’s what he gets in return. He doesn’t have time to shiver because he is forced to sidestep Dooku’s blade.

The Count notices the shift in the Force. “What’s the matter, boy? Surely you’re not scared of me.”

“No,” Anakin grunts.

“Liar,” Dooku says. “I can feel it in you. The fear, the anger. You hate me, don’t you?”

_Yes. For all the lives you took. For all the people you’ve endangered. For nearly killing the people I love._ “Jedi don’t hate,” he says, and goes for Dooku’s legs.

Dooku blocks him and says, “Ah. Forgive me if I don’t believe you. The conflict in you is obvious. And it’s not as if your master is much of a Jedi either.”

“What are you talking about?”

Dooku looks shocked. Anakin can’t tell if the Count is mocking him or if he is genuinely taken aback. Frankly, he doesn’t give a kriff. “You haven’t heard the news?”

“What news?” He is sick of these games.

“That your master has abandoned the Order in despair, leaving you behind.”

_What the kriff_? he thinks, and then he doesn’t think much of anything because Dooku takes advantage of Anakin’s surprise to blast him with Force lightning.

He can’t process anything outside the pain. He is familiar with this torture method, but that doesn’t negate the fact that he is being cooked alive. It is not a sensation he would recommend.

Thankfully Dooku stops to gloat some more. He whips a holoproj out of somewhere while Anakin blinks the haze out of his eyes. Suddenly his ears are full of news reporters saying things like “reported MIA early this morning” and “linked to Skywalker’s disappearance.”

None of it makes any sense.

 _It can’t be true. Obi-Wan’s not gone. He’s the one who’s always telling me to trust the Council, even when we both know they’re wrong. He wouldn’t just abandon the Code and everything he’s dedicated his life too. He wouldn’t just abandon_ me _._

“You see?” Dooku says. “He’s given up all hope of winning the war. He ran away with his tail between his legs.”

_No, not after everything we’ve been through._

Dooku hits Anakin with another quick zap of lightning, but he stops again when he is unable to hold back the tide of his own supercilious voice.

Anakin goes back to blinking and willing his muscles to stop twitching while Dooku says, “I’m surprised he didn’t take you with him. The two of you are practically inseparable.”

Anakin tries to breathe, to think rationally, to push back the growing tide of emotion. The Force feels Dark with it.

“Then again,” Dooku says, “it’s always been you who followed him around. Perhaps he just decided to cut some loose weight.”

That does it. Anakin rushes Dooku with everything he has. He does not care if the Force is boiling, he just wants this sick pile of poodoo dead yesterday. He keeps pulling on the Force and pulling, hitting Dooku harder and harder. The man’s cocky grin is finally disappearing. He senses a fear in the Force that is not his own and he grabs it and tugs. It burns, but it feels _good_. He yanks again, harder.

Dooku stumbles and Anakin twists his blade from beneath Dooku’s and turns. Dooku’s severed left hand hits the floor with a thump Anakin barely notices. Dooku drops his saber, more from shock than pain. Anakin knows it will take a minute for the latter to register. In the meantime, Anakin butts Dooku on the head with his own lightsaber and the Count drops like a sack of stones.

Anakin just stands there for a second, mind blank except for one thought: _I could kill him now._ He should. It would only take one swipe of his still-ignited blade and the galaxy would be safe again. The Separatists will fall apart without Dooku. The Force twists and hisses, _Do it._

Jedi do not kill unarmed, neutralized combatants. Anakin can’t just kill him while he lies unconscious on the floor.

Jedi don’t assassinate people either, but what did the Council send him here to do?

It is his mission to kill Dooku. It is his duty. He needs to do this, he has to so the galaxy can be safe. He has to so Padmé and Obi-Wan and Ahsoka and Rex and all of the 501st can finally be safe. He needs them all to be okay. He needs to know that they’ll all be okay without him because he fails to protect them so often and he doesn’t want to let them down again, but he doesn’t want to leave them without the little protection he can offer. He has to make them safe, and then he can be done.

Mother Goddess, he’s tired. He doesn’t want to do this anymore. He wants the Force to stop screaming in his ears. Oh gods, the screaming. _What have I done?_

The Force is saturated with the emotions from the fight. He drowns in the roar of fear and anger and the hate of every life Dooku has destroyed. Anakin has to kill him. He shouldn’t, but he can’t do anything else.

His comm buzzes several times in rapid succession. Anakin remembers suddenly that he sent Artoo to deal with the bombs. His friend needs him and Dooku is still unconscious. He pulls out his comm and sees a series of messages from Artoo, ranging from _This unit could use some help_ and _Are you functioning?_ to _I hope you get turned into scrap metal, you fried unit._

Judging by the increasing hostility of the messages, things are not going well. _Kark kanway._ He looks back down at Dooku. _I don’t have time for this poodoo._

Anakin looks between Dooku and his comm. He needs to go help Artoo immediately, but he can’t just leave Dooku here, even if he is unconscious and maimed.

He gets another message from Artoo. _Find the detonator or I will scrap you myself._

 _What?_ Anakin thinks. His thoughts fizzle out and reboost with a burst of insight. _Kriff, I’m so stupid._

He finds the detonator in a pocket of Dooku’s cloak. He comms Artoo.

A string of angry beeping greets him.

“Okay, I get it,” Anakin says. “I’m sorry I was in a lightsaber duel and didn’t answer your messages. Can we focus, please? I got the detonator.”

_“Finally.”_

“Is there a timer or a failsafe or anything to complicate this operation?”

_“This unit has only found one bomb so far. It was not communicating with anything besides the detonator and it is now disarmed.”_

“That’s good. The others are probably the same, then. Although we shouldn’t assume that. We’ll just have to find and defuse them individually.”

_“How many are there?”_

“I’m not sure,” Anakin admits. He thinks back to the droids he passed on the way to find Dooku. “At least three or four more.”

_“This is going to be a long night.”_

Several hours and another angry lecture by Artoo—plus the time it takes Artoo to bully him into eating a ration bar—later, the bombs are deactivated and there are only a few loose ends to tie up, namely apprehending Yorgan and Danji and figuring out what to do with Dooku.

There is no way Anakin is leaving Dooku with only Artoo to guard him, even if he is unconscious. But someone has to deal with Yorgan and Danji. He comms the Council to report partial mission success and request backup.

Obi-Wan’s absence from the ring of chairs is a glaring reminder of his fight with Dooku. Obi-Wan hadn’t known about the mission when they first assigned it to Anakin, but he assumed they intended to fill him in on the details later. He did not ask why they had chosen to keep the details of his mission from Obi-Wan, and they didn’t offer an explanation.

This time is different. After what Count Dooku said, what he showed him, Anakin needs an explanation. “Where is Obi-Wan?” he asks.

The Council members trade loaded glances.

“Skywalker,” Master Windu says, “we need a mission report first and foremost.”

“Fine. I have Dooku in custody and I stopped him from blowing up half the Kuat shipyards. Happy? Now what happened to him?”

He barely notices their startled reactions. Master Yoda speaks up, “Prefer to discuss this in person, we would.”

“Where. Is. He?” The anger from earlier never really abated, apparently. It was just waiting, bubbling beneath the surface. He is unable to stop some of it from spilling out now.

“Knight Skywalker, calm yourself,” Master Ti says. “Master Kenobi is currently listed as Missing in Action. The truth is that he defied Council orders in order to search for you when we would not disclose your location. Given his . . . bias, we thought it best if the nature of your mission was kept restricted.”

The _‘And we were right’_ hangs in the air. They obviously think Anakin’s own difficulties with attachment are rubbing off on Obi-Wan. Anakin disagrees. Sure, Obi-Wan cares about him, but he wouldn’t risk the wrath of the Council like this just to randomly go haring off on a wild bantha chase when Anakin could be anywhere in the galaxy. That makes no sense. He knows Anakin can take care of himself, and there’s no way Obi-Wan could hope to find him anyway without some clue as to his location. There must have been some other reason Obi-Wan left, something the Council isn’t telling Anakin. After all, they didn’t inform him that Obi-Wan was missing at all until he asked.

Anakin opens his mouth to say something, but Ti anticipates his question and says, “You were not informed because we did not wish to distract you from the vital nature of your mission. Which we would be very interested in returning to the topic of now,” she says meaningfully.

Anakin bites back everything he wants to say and bows. “Yes, Masters. My apologies.”

He tells them everything, or at least everything important. Maybe he is not very specific about his fight with Dooku, maybe he skirts around the question of why he didn’t kill Dooku like he was supposed to. He doesn’t know the answer to that himself. He should have. It was his mission.

The Council promises to send a ship that is more appropriate for prisoner transport than Anakin’s own and to assign another Jedi the task of tracking down Dooku’s collaborators. All Anakin has to do is guard Dooku until the reinforcements arrive.

He would prefer not to go anywhere near the man, but Anakin bandages the burnt stump of the Count’s left wrist with bacta and shoots him with painkillers. He could give Dooku a smaller dose in a bit of petty revenge, but Anakin knows from personal experience that it’s going to be painful even doped up on better drugs than what Anakin has available. He shoots him with a sedative, too. It might be a kindness towards Dooku, but it is really for Anakin’s sake. He would much rather Dooku remain unconscious until he is not Anakin’s problem anymore.

It is more than half a standard rotation later when the prisoner transport ship arrives. That is pretty quick, the best he could have hoped for, really. Nonetheless, Anakin has been awake for . . . he doesn’t know, actually. A while.

Dooku is not the kind of prisoner that can just be handed over to the planetary authorities. They couldn’t hold him, even if no one knew he was there. If word got out, it would attract all kinds of unwanted attention from beings either seeking revenge or hoping to break him out.

Despite the fact that this week was gifted to Anakin straight from the nine hells, there is only one option. Anakin drags Dooku onto his own ship and keeps the Count sedated and himself loaded with amphetamines until the transport arrives.

He is shaking visibly by the time the ship arrives in orbit around Kuat, but at least he is out of the stupid stolen uniform now and back in his own robes. The cloak hides the tremors.

He docks the _Twilight_ and they get Dooku into the brig and set him up with a real medic. The ship’s captain, who has the same genetic mutation that gives Rex his blonde hair, offers Anakin a medic as well. So maybe the tremors are visible, or he just noticed Anakin stumbling a little or leaning too much on the walls. Maybe it’s the way the muscle twitches—courtesy of the lightning—still occasionally take control of random parts of his body. The captain could almost _be_ Rex, with the hair and the rank and the same concerned furrow between his brows. But he’s not. His name is Dogfight, and he might be concerned but he’s not Anakin’s friend. Not like Rex.

Anakin misses Rex. He wonders how his captain is getting along without Anakin or Obi-Wan there to watch his back. He wonders if the Rinndio II campaign is over. He should have asked the Council.

“No,” he says to Captain Dogfight, possibly a beat too late. “I’m just going to go back to my ship and get some rest. Comm me if there’s any issues with the prisoner.”

“Yes sir,” Dogfight says smoothly, but the furrow deepens.

He could find a berth on the transport if he wanted it. It’s spacious enough to have guest quarters. Force, they’d probably give him the captain’s quarters if he asked. Privileges of rank and all. It might be better to be a bit closer to Dooku in case of an emergency. But Dooku is sedated and the crew is competent and his berth on the _Twilight_ is _his_ , which is all he wants right now.

He stumbles into the tiny sleeping quarters on his ship. He feels too wired to sleep, but he is too tired to remain upright any longer. He shuts the door and sits down hard on the bunk. He hasn’t been able to stop replaying everything that’s happened in the last few days. Now that he’s alone, tugging off his boots in a quiet room and finally able to take his hand off his lightsaber, the fight with Dooku rises to the front of his mind.

He remembers the Dark, how he _pulled_ on it, intentionally, in a way he hasn’t since the Tusken raider camp. He gave himself to it. He gave everything away. He has just enough time to think ‘ _What have I done?’_ and then he slumps sideways onto his pillow and falls asleep, one boot still half on and lightsaber still clipped to his belt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey hey! Only slightly late this time. It's amazing what limited wifi can do for your productivity.  
> I'm super excited to finally present to you the end of this awful cliffhanger. Everything is beautiful now.  
> You may have noticed that a lot of my inspiration for this fight comes from the Anakin vs Dooku fight in RotS, both the movie and book versions.  
> Let me know what you thought!


	17. Ahsoka

Ahsoka wakes up with her face smushed into her pillow, still in her clothes from yesterday.

 _What happened?_ she thinks groggily. Something important niggles at her, like last night was— _oh, right. Palpatine. Sidious. Asajj. Padmé. The senators._

It is stupid, but her next thought is: _I’m late for work._

There’s a sociopolitical apocalypse going on, and Ahsoka is worried about losing her job serving caf. She feels like an idiot, but she can’t let it go, so she rolls over and grabs her comm to call in sick. Then she drops it on the floor, pulls off her pants, and actually gets under the covers she was lying on top of.

She can’t fall asleep again, though. Now that she is up her head will not stop cycling through everything from last night.

One thing she knows for sure: Ahsoka is glad they went to Padmé. Her confidence, her experience, her resources, and her steady presence are exactly what she and Asajj need. Ahsoka is aware that she herself is incredibly skilled for someone her age. She has lead armies and saved planets. She is not a kid, but she is not quite an adult, either. She has doubts, because she has had the fundamentals of her existence proven false. She has insecurities, questions about how things work, dreams and desires and needs that she hasn’t figured out how to meet yet, and sometimes she just wants someone to hold her and tell her things will be alright. She is definitely not equipped to defeat Darth Sidious on her own. Asajj might be older and more acquainted with the intricacies of the Dark Side, but she’s pretty messed up, too. She’s angry, and hurt, and scared, just like Ahsoka.

Ahsoka has seen everyone she used as her bedrock—the Order, Obi-Wan, Anakin—at their lowest. And she still has love and trust for them in different measures, but it’s shaky and tattered. She trusts Anakin to be there for her when she needs him, but distance and perspective have made her realize that she can’t trust him to be there in the long term if he can’t be there for himself.

It kills her to admit it. She wants to help him, needs to support him the way he’s supported her. And she will, starting by getting rid of Sidious.

The whole lot of them are walking disasters. That’s why they need Padmé, because even at _her_ lowest, Padmé is still capable of making the right choices, of saving the galaxy and bringing everyone home safe. There is no one Ahsoka trusts so much to hold it together until the job is done.

Somehow, that trust has become love. Padmé hugged her and said “I love you” and everything and nothing has changed. Anakin has said he loved Ahsoka—because of course he has—after she brought him a cup of caf while he was on watch or drugged to the gills after a particularly nasty battle, but that’s just how her Skyguy is, too honest for a Jedi and trailing bright sparks as he shoots across her life. From Padmé, brimming with sincerity and emotions that she made no attempt to hide, it means something different. It means a steady fire that Ahsoka can finally name. It’s the affirmation of a home that, unlike her place with the Jedi, is not conditional upon anything but her own desire to be a part of it. Maybe not even that. Ahsoka suspects Padmé will love Ahsoka whether or not the feeling is returned.

It’s amazing. She’s always understood what Anakin sees in Padmé, but now she finally gets why he would break his vows for her.

Ahsoka feels bigger in some way, not taller, just _more._ Of course there is still Sidious, and the war, and a broken, kriffed up galaxy, but she feels like she can face it now.

Speaking of which, she should probably get up and see if Asajj is awake. They should eat breakfast and discuss their plan of action. There is plenty to do, after all.

“My butt’s numb,” Ahsoka says.

“I swear on the First Mother’s ashes, if you don’t shut up I’m going to kill you. I’m thinking strangulation via three-day-old dead mynock. Or I could just set DD on you,” Asajj says.

“Ouch,” Ahsoka says. That kind of sadism is uncalled for, because okay, maybe Ahsoka’s been complaining a little bit—or a lot bit—about their uncomfortable perch, but that’s Asajj’s fault for not picking a better spot. “I don’t think it would work, anyway. She loves me.”

“She loves me more. Now be quiet and pay attention.”

“Ouch.”

“Honestly, have you never done reconnaissance before?” Asajj says.

“I learned from Master Anakin,” Ahsoka deadpans.

Asajj grunts. “Point taken. But just because no one taught you how to sit quietly and focus doesn’t mean you can’t learn now.”

“But how can I sit quietly when my butt is numb?”

Asajj makes a sound like a dying nuna, but she holds very still and snaps, “I’m serious. Stop it.”

Ahsoka quiets immediately, stung. It’s not that she doesn’t take spying on the Chancellor seriously. Quite the opposite. But Asajj isn’t used to the same playful bickering serving as the baseline for even the most tense of missions.

Ahsoka lets the awkward silence ripen until she can’t stand it anymore. “Sorry.”

Asajj releases a long breath. “It’s fine.”

And maybe it is, but the moment is gone. Ahsoka refocuses on the building across from them.

They’ve been scoping out the Chancellor’s office for the past few hours, trying to assess the feasibility of a more permanent setup. So far, it’s not going too well. The Chancellor’s security is some of the most thorough work Ahsoka has ever seen. The Citadel was tight, but this is so much more subtle. It’s hard to figure out what the weak points are partly because it’s not safe to examine the office closely in broad daylight, and also because Asajj is pretty convinced that any seeming weak points are traps meant to lure them in.

They have to have some tangible proof of Sidious’s crimes to bring to the Senate. They’re not going to get that far with attitudes like Asajj’s, though.

Ahsoka’s frustration only grows as they continue to scope out the office the next day. They switch to watching his mansion the day after that. If the office security was tight, the Chancellor’s residence is like a sealed vacuum of security. Or something. That metaphor didn’t work out so well. Whatever. The point is that they are going to need something more concrete than reconnaissance from a block away. Apparently Sidious and his lackeys bought up all the surrounding buildings—which is totally insane for surface-level Coruscant real estate—because he’s that good. Or that paranoid.

The Chancellor’s mansion itself is property of the state, so hypothetically the blueprints for it are public access. Of course, they’re redacted for safety reasons and there is no way he has not made some off-the-books modifications. Still, blueprints of any kind would be better than the almost nothing they know now.

They discuss the problem that night with Bail, who the group agreed to place in charge of intelligence. Senator Mothma is heading up the political stuff like recruiting other senators and making sure the government doesn’t fall apart the minute they depose the Chancellor. Padmé is in charge of communications within the group. She organized all the dead drops and data encryption, and it is her job to mediate any conflicts that may arise. Ahsoka got put in charge of tactics, so she will be working pretty closely with Bail.

Asajj declined an official posting. Ahsoka has yet to figure out if that is because she wants to be free to get her hands dirty without any bureaucracy getting in the way, or if she is used to working independently and wants to retain that freedom, or if Asajj is still doubtful that their plan will work at all and wants to stay clear of the blast zone. It doesn’t really matter, because she is here and she is helping Ahsoka.

At least theoretically she is helping. She keeps pacing around while Ahsoka reports to Bail everything they learned.

They start discussing options for infiltrating the Chancellor’s office.

Ahsoka says, “We could create a disturbance in the Senate that would force everyone out of the building. A bomb threat or something. And while everyone is distracted we can break into the Chancellor’s office and hack his files.”

“It’s risky,” Bail says. “If the threat got traced back to us it could be disastrous. But maybe if—”

“No,” Asajj cuts in. They both turn in their chairs to look at her. “It won’t work.” She turns around and goes back to pacing.

“Oo-kay,” Ahsoka says. “Could we maybe put cameras in the building we used yesterday and try to pair that with an audio feed? There’s no way we’re getting bugs into the office proper, but what about the antechamber or the hallway outside? We might get something if the door is cracked or if someone lets something slip when they’re not in his personal office.”

“I’m sure they regularly sweep both the antechamber and office, and both are definitely soundproof. That’s how all of the Senate offices are. The possibility of getting something useful from a device positioned in the hallway is slim, but it may be our best—”

“No,” Asajj says again. “They definitely run thorough sweeps of that hallway regularly, not to mention the rest of the floor.”

“Well maybe instead of trying to get preexisting proof that he’s a Sith, we should force him to reveal _himself._ Use ourselves as bait and make him show himself to get to us,” Ahsoka suggests testily.

“That might actually work,” Bail says.

“No, that’s her stupidest idea yet!” Ventress says in a raised voice.

“Ladies, please,” Bail tries to soothe.

Ahsoka ignores him. She is out of patience and demanding, “What is your problem? We’re trying to figure out how to get rid of the guy who ruined your life, but you’ve shot down every idea we’ve had! I don’t see you suggesting anything.”

“I already said we should just kill him!”

“You agreed that that wouldn’t work!” Ahsoka gestures wildly.

“But it might result in him and me dead without taking you with us!”

Ahsoka gapes. Asajj glowers back.

Bail shifts uncomfortably and starts towards the door. “I think I’ll wait outside while you two discuss this.”

“No!” Ahsoka says. He stills. “We’re going to calm down and talk about this like adults.”

Ventress laughs. It is not the laugh that Ahsoka likes, the one she lets out when they’re joking over dinner or DD is licking her face. This one is harder than durasteel. “That’s just it, isn’t it? You’re not an adult. You’re still a child, playing at war games and pretending you know how to fix the galaxy’s problems. Well guess what? None of us do, and I’m not going to let you get caught in the middle of this!”

“You’re not going to let me?” she asks incredulously. “First of all, Ventress: for your information I was emancipated the moment I left the Order for good. Second, it is not, has never been, and will never be up to you to decide what I do. I make my own choices. I know what we’re doing is dangerous, and I am fully prepared to accept the consequences of my part in making this the kind of galaxy I want to live in, regardless of your opinion.”

Ventress recoils. “Well,” she says briskly, “if you really don’t need me, I’ll just be going.” She storms out before Ahsoka can say anything else.

She stands there while her body and the Force gradually stop vibrating with anger. Bail coughs lightly.

 _Oh poodoo_ , she thinks. “You’re not going to say I’m too young to do this, too, are you?”

“No,” Bail says. “You’re legally allowed to make your own decisions regarding your safety. And besides that, you have the experience and maturity necessary to choose. You are young, but you are capable of giving informed consent. I don’t have any objections to your part in our work. And even if I did, it would not be my place but the group’s to ensure your involvement was at an appropriate level.”

“Thanks,” she says. “I just wish everyone saw it that way.”

“Might I offer some advice, though?” he asks.

“Sure.”

“Be careful with yourself. You’re clearly very important to several people we are working with. Don’t be careless out of a need to prove something.”

Ahsoka goes home. She half hopes Ventress has not come back yet as she opens the door, but she’s sprawled in all her lazy intensity across the couch, DD sitting alertly on her stomach. “You’ve finally decided to show up,” she says, running a hand down DD’s back.

“Can we please not do this now? I have work in the morning,” Ahsoka says. She tries to muster up some patience.

“You don’t, actually. You quit today.”

“What? No I didn’t.”

“Well, _you_ didn’t. But your boss understood from my comm that you wanted to be done. It’s not my fault if she can’t tell the difference between us.”

The thread of calm Ahsoka was holding onto snaps. “So you impersonated me and forced me to quit my job? Why?”

She keeps petting DD without regard for the Ahsoka. “Well clearly you won’t be able to keep it, seeing as you’re so busy with your little rebellion.”

“What? Ventress, you can’t just do that! We still have to pay for this place.”

“No, _we’re_ not doing anything. You won’t need to split the bill with me because you’re not going to be living here anymore.”

Ahsoka stops short. She fights to keep her voice steady as she asks, “You’re kicking me out? Because I’m going through with the plan we agreed on together?”

Ventress drops the indifference and sits up properly. “I’m letting you go because you clearly don’t need me anymore.”

“But what about Sidious? I thought—”

“You thought wrong,” she snaps.

“Asajj, can we please talk about this?” She is trying to focus, but everything seems like it’s shifted an inch to the left. She tries to hold onto what they had this morning, what they had last week.

“So we’re back to first names, now? You can’t have it both ways. You trust me or you don’t. You need me or you don’t. And clearly you don’t, so I don’t want to see your face in my home again.”

“It’s my home, too, you know,” she says desperately.

“Clearly not. Now take your things and get out. You have one hour before I take you by the lek and toss you out myself.”

“Asajj, please. I _do_ trust you. I just want you to trust me. Trust me to take care of myself,” she pleads.

“Oh, I do trust you. I think you’re perfectly capable of ignoring every reasonable suggestion and landing yourself in an early grave. Your track record for screwing up speaks for itself, little padawan. Now get. Out.” Her eyes flash, knowing just how deeply she has cut Ahsoka.

The haze from before snaps back into dazzling clarity and then it blurs again. She is not going to cry, dang it. “Fine,” she snarls, and marches past Ventress into her room.

It doesn’t take her long to gather up everything she owns. Since leaving the Order, she has acquired few new possessions outside of some necessary clothes. It all still fits in one bag.

She leaves enough credits to pay her portion of the rent for the month so far. Aside from that, her salvaged bedroom furniture, and the fact that the roof no longer leaks, no one would guess that Ahsoka lived here for more than half a year. Ventress had practically adopted DD before Ahsoka convinced her to take the tooka in. Ventress might have bought the cereal in the cupboard without Ahsoka’s pleading looks. Ventress is generally a tidy person, so the obsessively inspection-ready fresher might still be neat if Ahsoka was never there to gripe about smudges on the mirror.

And maybe Ventress never drank caf before Ahsoka forced her to try it, but that does not mean she would not have acquired a taste for it on her own.

She stands on the edge between the kitchen and the living room, her heels on the cold tile and her toes on the carpet, and tries to decide if she should say something or just go without a word. Ventress is still on the couch, facing towards the blank holoproj.

“I’m leaving,” she says.

Ventress’s jaw works once, but she doesn’t say anything.

“I—” _I’m sorry for losing my temper. Don’t make me go. Thank you for giving me a home. I think I hate you. Please don’t make me go._ “I guess I just wanted to say thank you for giving me a place to stay, even though it was such a burden for you. You didn’t have to take me in and I—I guess that’s it.”

No reaction this time.

Ahsoka walks out the door. The last thing she hears before the door shuts is DD’s piteous mew.

Padmé lets her in and sits her on the couch with blankets and tea while she cries. When she asks, “Do you want to talk about it?” and Ahsoka shakes her head, Padmé only wraps her in a hug and doesn’t say anything else. Ahsoka has never loved her more.

Threepio, ever the hovering mother hen, keeps bringing them tea when their old cups are cold.

Ahsoka calms down enough to say, “I need a place to stay.”

Padmé says, “You can stay here as long as you like. Stay forever.”

Ahsoka laughs wetly. “Thanks.”

Padmé smiles and chucks her chin. “Hey, don’t worry about it. I have the space and Goddess knows I could use the company.”

“I think I should resent that,” Threepio says.

“Hush, you,” Padmé tells him fondly. She turns back to Ahsoka. “I don’t know what happened between you and Ventress, and you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, but you’re welcome here and you don’t need to be afraid I’ll turn you out. Anakin would murder me,” she jokes.

“That seems unlikely,” Ahsoka says. She takes a steadying breath. “She got mad because she thinks I’m being too childish about all this,” she gestures vaguely to symbolize their fight against Sidious, not wanting to say his name aloud, “and she doesn’t trust me because she thinks I don’t trust her, so she told me to get lost and not come back. But I do,” she pulls away from Padmé’s embrace to look at her fully, “I do trust her.”

“She’ll come round,” Padmé says. “She’ll realize she needs to trust you to take care of yourself, and she’ll let you back in. I think she’s just not used to having someone else she cares about. You changed her.”

“That’s just it. I don’t think I did. I thought she was different, that she cared. But she’s out. She’s not going to help us anymore.”

“Are you sure? Maybe she was just angry.”

“I’m sure,” she says. _Don’t get my hopes up._ “She’s out.”

“Okay,” Padmé says, even though none of this is okay.

Ahsoka pulls herself together. Ventress is a valuable asset, but they can still beat Darth Sidious without her help. Her inside knowledge and skill set will be missed, but she is not irreplaceable. Ahsoka can figure out how to get the evidence they need without her input.

She turns to Padmé and says, “I need you to do something for me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeeeeey, I'm sorry this is so late. My sister got married and I had one last week of work before school starts again and it's just been wild recently. Needless to say writing has not been my top priority. Sorry, my dudes. Things should start to settle down soon.  
> You might have noticed that I've started to clean this fic up a bit. The chapters are now titled after the character POV they focus on, which hopefully will make navigating the fic easier. I'm also going back and removing the paragraph indentations. They look disgusting in the mobile version and I want them gone. It's slow and boring work, though, so I'm only halfway done. I'll finish when I can, and then this fic will be beautiful! 0:)  
> I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. FEEL THE SUFFERING. Can I just say I love writing arguments?  
> As always, I'm delighted to hear what you thought. Things will be moving pretty fast from here on out, so buckle up for a plot that's actually moving. Amazing, I know.

**Author's Note:**

> I plan to post on a weekly schedule, though comments might motivate me to post a bonus chapter. They'll all probably be about this length. I have some chapters reserved, but I'm a college student with a life in the real world so updates may become sporadic later on.


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